Undercover Isn't Under the Rug
by TangoSVU
Summary: NEW chapter 9! "What happened in the basement? Nothing. Nothing. If she thinks it hard enough, long enough, it will be true. It has to be." In the aftermath, Olivia discovers she's not so strong, but how will this change her? slight EO, basically TTC.
1. Nothing is Everything

**Disclaimer:** Olivia and Elliot and all the rest are, unfortunately, not mine. -tears-

**A/N: I just got so frustrated with the ending of the latest episode "Undercover" (which means massive SPOILERS! for all of S9 really) that this just kind of came about on it's own. Cause I mean, seriously, our poor Liv has had a bunch of pretty significant lifechanging experiences this season but they're not showing us how well (or not well) she's dealing with things. Especially since she hasn't talked to El about like, ANYTHING. (Cooper anyone? Hello!) even that little adoption bit was nothing more than a quip. So, yes, it's true. I have finally succumbed: here's my first E/O shipper story! Not planning on going _too_ overboard with it at the moment, but who knows where it will head. These characters do tend to be rather strong-willed if you will remember. -wink- Oh, also, these are the first random scraplings that came into my head (in fact the very first paragraph optimally should be placed somewhere else... only where? idk yet. lol. sorry about that!) but I want to know what everyone's thinking. Should I continue or is it not worth it? xoxo**

**TangoSVU**

"Who's the bitch now?" The anger comes suddenly, unexpectedly, seemingly not from her mouth. It's a reaction whose origin she can't place. It occurs because Fin arrived, because she caught a glimpse of her former life, an image of the person she used to be. She's already lost whoever that was; it was stolen, ripped away. For all the things she thought she knew, the things she says every single day, they were a lie. As strong as she thought she was, she's crumbled. She's cried, is crying, can't _stop_ crying.

The sheets tangle around her feet even though her arms are wrapped around her knees. She can't breathe, she can't breathe. She has brought every single light inside of her apartment into this one room and turned them all on, but nothing stops the fear. Nothing stops the visions behind her lids every time she closes her eyes. _What happened in the basement, Liv?_ Nothing. Nothing. If she thinks it hard enough, long enough, it will be true. It has to be. But she's not just thinking it; she's speaking it, screaming it really. _What happened in the basement, Liv?_ Elliot! Elliot don't ask! Elliot just save me, please! Help me, El! Her hands are stretched before her, reaching as far as she can as she tries to shout everything out but it won't come. She's alone. Always alone. This is exactly why she hasn't been to her apartment in days, but people at work were starting to question. _What happened in the basement, Liv?_ What happened in the basement, what happened in the basement, what happened in the basement…

Nothing. Nothing happened in the basement.

Tears fall. The lies haunt. She doesn't sleep.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Elliot sees her sitting at her desk. She's staring at that bastard's photo again. The exact same look in her eyes as the last time. He wants to go over to her but he doesn't. She's closed him out. He doesn't know what happened, but he's ready to listen. She's got no one; no one except him. So why does she shut herself off? He asked her, he asked! As gently as he possibly could, he asked her the question no one else was brave enough to confront. "What happened in the basement, Liv?" He watched her, restricted the urge to wrap her inside his arms so they could forget the severity of it all. He waited through her hesitation. He waited for her.

But she lied. He knew she would before she even took a breath to speak. "Nothin'." She couldn't even finish the word. She knew she was lying too. He was about to say her name, already shifting to allow contact between them, but Olivia interrupted. "Nothin' happened." A sigh, the illusion of a breath but Elliot could tell that she was, _is_, dying by degrees, her beautiful soul withering. "I'm fine, El."

It's the shortening of his name that stopped him. It's their thing. Only Liv calls him that. She's still there, somewhere – his Olivia – so maybe she's okay, for now, because eventually she'll let him in. She always comes around. They always find each other. So he let her go and holds onto that. But he watches her.

Just like he watched her behind the glass as she interrogated the perp. The familiar surroundings bolstered her confidence. They were in the victim's territory now and everyone knew it. Victim. It threw Elliot for a loop. _No, no, it's not true._ Elliot thought. Fin rescued her before anything could happen. (_Fin, not me_. The pounding in his head reminds him. _He_ should've been the one. It was his job to protect her. _His_ job to save her but he _didn't_. He failed and look at what's happened. He's lost her. She's lost herself.) Olivia was not, and never would be, a victim. Inside that room she was strong, she was in control and there was no denying it. But still, it was a false bravado, a shimmer of her normal presence.

She talked the same as always, same movements, same intuition for which words would press the right buttons. Elliot saw her confront him – the man who bruised her – steel in her gaze. He got into her face and Elliot was about to run in there to protect her because he screwed it up the last two times and he still can't understand why he wasn't allowed in there to begin with but she wanted to go in alone. She wanted to handle it without him.

But he saw her flinch. He saw the fear in her eyes as Harris yelled at her, tried to touch her face. He saw as she struggled to retain her composure, had to divert her pupils from his eyes to the wound on his cheek, just one of the many marks from their last encounter. She needed to see that she'd damaged him, needed to be reminded that he couldn't affect her here. But he had, and Elliot knew it. But all he could do was watch. Watch and wait for his Olivia to come back to him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"What are we doing down here?" It's her voice, but different. Set on edge, wavering over the unknown. His voice is there too, without the muffling affect like her own. No, his is crystal clear. Just as clear as her nerve-endings sending electric shocks directly to her brain for every point of contact from him. It is so painful on her skin that Olivia jerks awake, throwing the covers on the floor and gasping for air. Immediately she leaps up and pads barefoot into the kitchen to fill herself a glass of water but once there she stumbles, has to place her left hand across her heart in an attempt to still it and wipe the tears away with her right. She can't keep doing this. She can't keep going like this. She's coming apart at the seams and no one seems to notice. Even Elliot accepted her lie but she can't do it. _She can't. do. it._"I lied," She croaks dryly, her voice still scratchy from the screams in her dreams. Only there's no one there to hear her, so she pushes the back of her hand across her lips as if that could hold back the sound, and then – mournfully, piercingly – she wails.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

**a/n: well? review please and let me know! oh and seriously, who else is distraught over Diane Neal leaving? -tears-**


	2. Search and Rescue

**A/N: so I've given us a terrible tease in this chapter! and there's still lots of emo angst, lol. sry about that. Hopefully things will move toward resolution sometime soon, but we'll see how it goes. I don't really have a plan for this at all, have no idea where it's going or for how long. Suggestions/comments would be much appreciated! Kathy will most likely have to make an appearance here coming up, which I'm dreading. Oh, and you'll probably figure it out, I had the different voices written in different fonts for clarification but wouldn't you know this thing doesn't hold those edits, so I've used the "x's" in a row to be a POV change and the "c's" to symbolize a separation/break of sorts in the same character line. This chapter is mostly from Elliot's POV, so enjoy! r&r u know the dril!**

**TangoSVU**

**(p.s. the song is "Adore her" by Mandy Moore. -wink-)**

She has to get out of here. The walls keep closing in no matter which floor she sits on. It's making her crazy and she has to be rational. She needs to be a _cop_. She needs to get over this. She _will _get over this. She has to, because it was nothing, because it didn't matter, because nothing happened.

She needs to get out of here.

That's the only thing she can think anymore. It's the only thing she can _allow_ herself to think anymore. Thinking is dangerous; thinking leads to reflections and memories that she can't handle. Memories that she can't face alone. She knows this doesn't make sense, she knows she's stronger than all of this. But the shadows inside of her apartment have kept her nerves on edge. She'll go running, or head to the gym to work out. Yes, that's what she'll do. Because she just needs out of here. Then everything will go back to normal.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXx

She likes chocolate in the morning. Dark. It has to be dark, her favorite. None of that fake milk stuff. She drinks her coffee late at night. No, he corrects himself. It's tea now, he knows that. Chamomile, with the little flower inside. She drinks her tea late at night. Why does that phrase sound so familiar to him? It's a song, that's right. Kathleen used to put it on repeat. What was the rest of it? He can only recall scattered pieces. "You can sense that she is guarded, but that's alright." And it is; it is alright. Everything will be alright as long as they're together. "She loves to watch the sunset, but she's partial to the rain." This is true, because she's always been his sunset, only she thinks she's the rain. It's what she can relate to, all she grew up in, all she's known. "Can't you just adore her?" But he does, he already does. He's not sure when, but, God help him, he always has. He's not sure she knows it though, and that's inherently the problem.

She hasn't come to work today. It's already mid-afternoon and her desk is still empty. But there wasn't a case assigned last night and Olivia never misses work. That's not who she is. Only she's not herself lately and he knows it. "Cap," he calls, poking his head into the office space. "Where's Liv today?"

Cragen takes the half-chewed stick of licorice out of his mouth. "I was just about to ask you that."

"I'll call her," Elliot responds, reaching for the cell at his side. "She probably overslept." Only no one is biting the excuse because Olivia is never late, she doesn't oversleep. In fact, with all she's gone through – and how dark the circles underneath her eyes were the last time he'd seen her – she probably hasn't slept in awhile at all.

Her apartment phone just rings and rings. She's never had an answering machine – even though she's never home (does she call it home?) – because everyone who ever needs to find her has her cell number, which he tries next. But it goes right to voicemail, meaning it's off. Olivia _never _turns her phone off. Regardless of the cost to herself, she ensures that she is immediately and permanently available to each and every victim to cross her path, even for a moment. Something must've happened. There has to be a grand misunderstanding. She would've told him; she should've told him everything already.

That's it. He's done. He's given her enough time by now. No more screwing around. He was going to fix things like he should've all along. He was going to fix them with her, _for _her. Only first he has to find her. So without even a nod to Cragen or one of the other detectives, he yanks up his jacket and stomps out of the station.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_ Like Mother, like Daughter. Like Mother, like Daughter. _It swirls through her head like a horrid mantra and she hates it, god she hates it so much, but she's afraid to push it out because it has to be better than the other things she's had stuck in her head recently. The alcohol should be helping with that, only it's not. She lifts the glass to her lips again and lets the cool rim rest against her teeth before the bitter sting of the liquid travels down her throat. Vodka. Serena's favorite. Olivia has always been satisfied with a nice cold beer – yet another example of how much she is like "just one of the guys". She doesn't know why she's drinking vodka tonight. Doesn't know how she ended up here, in the Velvet Room of all places, and certainly not this early in the goddamn morning. She didn't know there were any bars even open before lunch.

But she couldn't go home, after her workout. She couldn't sleep, couldn't face the shadows. So she wandered the city. Wandered it like she didn't care, strutting through bad neighborhood after bad neighborhood with her head held high like she wasn't scared, hands in her pockets like she had nothing to fear in being casual, only beneath her fingers she held tight to her gun. Cragen hadn't asked for it back. She knows she didn't actually leave, even though she hasn't been to work today, but policy would've suggested it. She wonders if he should've…

Death isn't on her mind today though. She's thinking about life, specifically her mom's. The more vodka she swallows the more she wonders, why this? Why did this smell permeate her every childhood memory? What made her mom like this so much? What was it that she found in the vodka that she couldn't find anywhere else, not even in her own daughter? Serena was raped; she gave birth to Olivia. These are facts Olivia has known for decades, but even with the harsh reality of her job, they have never seemed real until now. Serena was raped, and she started drinking vodka. Now here Olivia is after everything, drinking vodka and what does that say? What does that mean?

Nothing. Nothing. It means nothing. Olivia places the shot back down on the counter, hard, as if that will clear her mind and motions to the bartender for another. She's lost count of how many it's been now, of how long she's sat here, but the bartender keeps looking at her and shaking his head and she doesn't like that. He keeps refilling though, so she stays. No one worth going home to after all. _Like Mother, like daughter._

XxXxXxXxXxXxXx

She's not at her apartment, or the gym, or the grocery store. It's almost dark by now but he still hasn't found her. She's not in any of the places she usually is and that scares him. New York is a big city. He of all people should know that if someone wants to get lost here, they can. He stops on the street corner, hand raised onto the back of his head. _Maybe I should check the hospitals,_ he thinks, and then quickly shoves the thought away. She probably just went for a walk in Central Park. She did that for awhile after her ADA friend was murdered there, way back in the beginning before they even had Alex. Liv was always the kind of person to do that: hold the memory of a person so close their habits sometimes became her own. Just like she will walk beside him in tandem, neither one of them speaking because they already know what the other is thinking.

Suddenly his phone rings just as Elliot is about to head in that direction. "Detective Stabler," he says, hoping it's her but instinctively knowing it isn't, remembering she answers her cell that way too, formal, like it is her work phone and she is just a Detective, as if that is her only sense of identity.

"Are you Elliot Stabler?" The unfamiliar voice replies.

"Who's asking?"

"Look," it's gruff, irritated. "There's this chick here at my bar and she's practically passed out. I looked through her purse and this is the only number I could find. You wanna come pick her up or am I gonna hafta dump her out on the street?"

Elliot doesn't even need a description to know who it is. Inside he's begging, _Hang on Liv, I'm coming for you. _He climbs hurriedly into his car, resisting the urge to be a cop and ask the man why the hell he was going through Olivia's purse at all. "What's the address?"

ccccccccccccccccc

The artificial glow from the bar sign is blinding him as he tries to read it. She's at the Velvet Room. Why is that name sending bells ringing through his ears? Whatever, it doesn't matter right now. All that matters is her.

He pushes inside and crosses the relatively small room as fast as he can considering the shock his eyes are receiving due to the sudden darkness. It smells of mold and body odor, and probably other things he doesn't ever want to identify. He doesn't understand how she ended up here but he sees her there – lulled over the countertop – reaches her in an instant. "Liv,"

She looks up at him – something he abruptly realizes he's missed because it's been so long since she has dared to meet his eyes – but the sparkle he's used to has disappeared, replaced by a dull glaze. "Oh hey there Elliot," she slurs with some kind of ridiculous hand movement that goes nowhere and means nothing. She's plastered, her breath proves it if nothing else.

"Why didn't you come to work today?" He snaps. He didn't mean to, hadn't planned on it, but he does. Even in her state she doesn't miss it.

She takes a swig from a glass that looks like it's been empty for an hour and blinks at him. "What's the matter, _Stabler_? Can't hack it without me?"

_Cool down, Elliot._ He tells himself, taking a deep breath – but not too deep and not through his nose for obvious reasons. _Time and place, just get her out of here._ "Let's go. Can you walk?"

"Do I look like I'm in a wheelchair to you? Of course I can walk." But just shifting on the stool has her stumbling. Elliot barely catches her.

He pulls her to her feet and, with a nod to the bartender, places a bill amidst the fifteen odd shot glasses. What was she trying to do, drink herself into a stupor? Enough is enough. "Come on, I'm taking you home."

The alcohol has made her brave, or maybe stupid. She wraps an arm around his neck and buries her nose into his chest. The contact makes his heart jump. "My hero, rescuing the damsel in distress."

"What distress?" his tone has gone soft with surprise at her sudden change in demeanor as he leads her through the back, up the stairs and into the alley.

She makes a strained gasp, tightening up and planting her feet solidly – quite amazing actually, considering she can barely walk. "Liv, what's wrong?" but she can't answer him. She only turns her face away from the stairs with her hand over her nose and mouth to keep the tears at bay. The issue strikes him as his brain connects the dots. The Velvet Room. Her mother took her last binge here; died by falling down those stairs. "Oh Liv, why here?" he mutters, moving to take her out the front instead.

She's like molding clay in his arms. He must have over half her weight until he gets her into the passenger seat of his car. But when he reaches across her to buckle her seatbelt she grabs his collar and – as if it answers either question – pulls his face close until her lips meet his ear with an expulsion of air.

_Nothin'. _He hears it distinctly, but just the same he's not sure if it's from the present or a memory of the past. Doesn't know if she needs to say it or if she needs him to believe it so she can believe it herself. The drive to her place is filled with nothing but silence.

ccccccccccccccccc

When he gets her inside she collapses like jello onto her couch. But she's still clutching to his shirt and the force knocks him off balance so that he's tumbling too, barely able to twist himself so that he doesn't land directly on top of her. Before he can right himself, she plants a kiss – hot and sloppy – across his mouth. She sucks the air from deep within his lungs as if his carbon dioxide is the only thing that will be able to sustain her. And he wants that to be the case, wants this so badly, but he can't. He can't. _Not now. Not yet. _Energy pulses through his veins as he tugs himself away, trying to ignore that for what it was – an effect of the alcohol – and nothing more.

"You're drunk, Olivia." He states angrily – with reluctance – then gets up, goes into the kitchen and brings her a cup of water with two aspirin. "Take these or you'll regret it later." She still looks stunned from his seeming lack-of-interest. If only…

He watches her swallow with a grimace and then takes the glass when she hands it back to him. "I'll tell Cragen you're taking tomorrow off, but that's all you get and don't you dare bite my ass for it later."

"No!" She shouts, only it's more like a whine or still yet a child's helpless plea really, wrapping her delicate fingertips – yet in reality they're calloused so how can that be? He doesn't know, but they are. They are the most delicate feminine thing he's ever touched – around his wrist to keep him from leaving.

"Liv, what happened? Why are you acting like this?" Elliot sighs.

She purses her lips but hasn't let go of him. "Please El, I just, I don't want to be alone."

It's the sadness that stops him. She sounds… _broken_. God, he just wants to know what happened so he can fix it! Can she not see that trying to hide it is just killing everyone?

But even though he knows tonight is not the night for confessions, he gives in, sitting down beside her. Immediately she places her head across his lap and by the time he begins to run his fingers through her hair – hesitantly – she's already asleep. _Maybe it's better that way, _he rationalizes, and even though it's shorter than he likes, he keeps playing with her hair. His sleeping beauty.


	3. Waking Up and Still No Answers

**A/N: I know, I know! Please don't start. My inspiration had dwindled, and only recently did it suddenly return. I already have another chap after this one, but it still needs some minor editing. Hopefully another one will be up soon, but until then, enjoy this one! It's in Elliot's POV, just like where we left off last. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about our dear old Liv! How could I when this story is completely about her? Lol. She's got her time to shine coming up here soon. And I know many of you have waited a long time for me to add more to this, so I hope I didn't disappoint anyone! R&R and let me know!**

**TangoSVU**

He rests off and on throughout the night, but most of the time he just watches her, and thinks. Every time he's had to wake her in the squad room, she's always been lying on her back with her hands free, usually dropped on top of some files as if she could work from her dreams. But here, on his lap, he finds Olivia sleeping on her side, with legs tucked in and a hand clasped into a fist before her face. It's a defensive position, which strikes him since she lives her life on the offensive, protecting others instead of herself. He wonders which is an act that she has generated – built upon – and which is her true self; why it comes out like this, and when.

There isn't much time anymore to contemplate however, because Olivia stirs, laying on her back and uncurling her fists. Her eyes are still closed though. Elliot chances a glance at his watch. It's nearly 5am; she's been asleep for almost 10 hrs. He (they) has to be at work in a few hours. Does he dare to go home to shower, risking Kathy's wrath? How is he supposed to explain a night at Olivia's? Kathy won't understand the reasoning, won't believe him when he tells her nothing happened. Maybe he should just say he caught a case and didn't have a chance to call. She doesn't like that excuse, he knows, especially since little Eli, but she's never questioned him on it either. Yes, that's what he'll do. He'll go home, kiss his wife (instead of the woman in his lap), cradle his son, and go back to work. Fix someone else's problems while ignoring his own.

Just as he's decided that, Olivia opens her eyes, looks up at him and he watches as her pupils go from tiny sleeper eyes to wide surprise eyes. "What the hell happened?" she gasps, flinging herself up; a movement she instantly regrets.

She scoots away from him, cradling her head in an attempt to stop its reeling though the obvious pain streaking all across her face gives her away. She looks back to him, her head tilted at an angle. "What are you doing here?"

There's a strain, in her voice, a glint in her eye but Elliot can't tell if it's because she really can't remember, or because she wishes he wasn't here. Not wanting to fight with her, he stands up. "You were wasted, Olivia. The bartender – _at the Velvet Room – _" he throws that in as a punch, to gauge her reaction. But she just closes her eyes, cradles her head again and he's not sure what that means so he just continues. "Called me and I picked you up, brought you back here," a pause. "stayed to make sure you were okay."

She mumbles from underneath her arm. "Well you shouldn't have wasted the effort, so don't expect a medal for your chivalry."

Even if it's still just trickling from the remains of the liquor, Elliot can't help smiling at the biting humor, a wit he's rarely seen since their first few years together as partners. He doesn't go so far as to sit on the couch again, but he stoops, comes down closer to her level, like he does with children so they'll talk to him. "Olivia, you're not okay." He doesn't phrase it as a question because he doesn't want her to be able to get out of it. She has to face this, whatever _this_ is.

She doesn't answer, but she turns away and her shoulders start to quiver. Is she crying? He's seen her teary-eyed before, maybe even a little sniffly, but _never_ crying. "Liv?" he asks gently, touching her knee.

There's a panicked gasp – almost a scream – a startling sound as she literally leaps from the couch and scurries into her room. The door slams shut behind her, leaving a stunned Elliot in her wake. His utter confusion is evident. _What the hell just happened?_

Elliot follows her trail, doesn't dare to tap on the door and spook her more. "Liv," he whispers, then pauses, desperate to hear any kind of answer. "Liv, just _talk_ to me."

But there's no sound behind the door. He waits there, second after agonizing second until over a full minute has passed. "I'm leaving now," he says finally, "But I'm not leaving you. _Ever_." Still nothing. He's sure his eyes should've burned a hole through the door by now; he's been staring at it so hard. But there's nothing, not even a faint creak. Eventually he turns, let's himself out. He's so scared of losing her.


	4. Crossing the Line

**A/N: Wow, sry it's been a bit longer than expected guys, but I really really -really- think you'll forgive me for the wait! If I do say so myself, -eh hem- the 2nd part of this chapter is especially, well, how can I say it? _Genious._ Really. On the risk of being called conceited, I really think it will throw you for a loop instead of where you think it might be heading. The most common responses to this so far have been "OMFG!" and "holy shit batman!" (Matt! -giggles-) I just want you to give it a fair and solid chance, I think you'll be very pleased. XD So bear with me through a little bit more of this angst and I promise we'll be getting into the really _meaty_ part of this story soon. This is all in our dear Olivia's POV (yay!), and it picks up right where our last chapter left off with Elliot. Ready, go! (and then review as always my lovlies!)**

_ Olivia, you're not okay. _He said. So he hadn't fallen for her lie after all. Then she realizes that he knows, and yet doesn't _know_ anything. Still, it's been a long time since she's been this vulnerable in front of anyone, much less him. _Especially_ in front of him. She turns away.

Hears the whisper of a voice, and then, unexpectedly – because they're just _partners,_ and _work _partners at that. They never touch. The closest they ever get is a brush pass between shoulders in a hallway, or a brief finger graze when transferring paperwork – a touch against her knee. No one has touched her since…

Before she comprehends what her body is doing, she finds herself behind her bedroom door: heart pounding, mind staggering, mouth dry, limbs frozen hard in place and yet weak as wet noodles, throat constricted, lungs burning. She can't remember having a panic attack this bad before, and she hasn't had one since she was a teenager anyway. But she can't breathe, she can't think, she can't move. As a police officer you're trained to take these shots of adrenaline in stride, manipulate them to keep you going and catch the perp, still your hand with perfect vision and make the shot with solid aim. But this adrenaline has left her paralyzed.

"Liv?" She blinks – the only movement she can manage, lost over on her side of the door – knowing she couldn't answer Elliot even if she tried. "Liv, just _talk_ to me." But she can't even swallow. How can she talk to him when she can't even think the words to herself?

She tries though. _God_ she tries to talk to him. They've always been a support to each other, the leg upon which the other could stand. He pushes and she shoves back, but if one of them should fall the other is always right there to catch them. If anyone could understand her, it would be Elliot.

Or would it? Would he? _Could_ he? No, no he couldn't. There's no way he could understand what's happened. She's always been the one to identify with the victims – the thought makes her stomach drop again but she forces it away – not El, not the way she does. But he's all she's got. She takes a shallow, stunted breath, ready to force something from between her lips…

"I'm leaving now," Elliot says then, a tender whisper from the other side of the door, from the other side of life – the side Olivia used to travel in. "But I'm not leaving you. _Ever._" She can sense his hand, pressed against the wood; can nearly feel the warmth from his fingertips. She tries to raise her own hand into the same spot, imagining this looks like one of those scenes in a movie where the couple matches their hands up between the windows of the car before one of them drives off into the unknown. And that's exactly what happens there: Elliot goes and Olivia stays in the unknown. She hears the front door shut; the echo of footsteps down the stairs. The breath she's been unconsciously holding releases itself and she slides down until she's sitting on the floor, her back against the door. Then she throws her head into the unyielding wood behind her. Once, twice, three times, and even though her mind hasn't cleared, that's all she can get before the tears start to fall.

BZZZZ BZZZZ BZZZZ. Olivia's head lulls to the side, and then jerks upward. Literally it's like her head is exploding. Her nerves are screaming for some serious pain meds. She blinks away the confusion at finding herself leaning against her bedroom door when she realizes her beeper is going off. She must have been truly exhausted to have fallen asleep here. Uncomfortably stiff, she shifts until she can glance at the machine; 211. That's her and Elliot's code to let the other know a case is coming and they're about to be called in. It's like 911, only it's just the two of them instead of 9 plus. Standing carefully, she stretches and then pulls her orange shirt over her head. It reeks of salt somehow, the only tangible remainder – besides a headache, which will quickly be heavily medicated, and the dark circles under her eyes that she notices later – of last night's escapades, and lugs her body into a hot shower.

Olivia's watching him later (after dodging the questioning looks from nearly every fellow staff member in the whole damn plaza), the little boy. Eight years old, to be exact. The case had been brought to them a few weeks ago when the boy – what was his name? Something like Jason, or Taylor, or maybe Aaron? No, Asher, that's what it was. _Asher_. Why couldn't she remember that? She'd never forgotten victim's names before, and certainly not a kid's at that – Asher had started drawing nearly pornographic images in school. When pressed for details, he'd blamed the abuse on a fellow classmate, a little second grade girl named, named… dammit named Lily. _Lily_.

Why was that so hard to remember? Olivia tried to console herself when her brain filled in the details: how the girl's legal name was Lileth, but everyone called her Lily. Still, in the back of her head (pounding even though she'd practically overdosed on Tylenol) she knew something was wrong with her today, and it was more than just too much alcohol last night. Something was just… off. She could feel it in her bones.

But Lily, right, focus on the case at hand Olivia, she told herself. Lily was with her confused parents and the Cap in the next room, just oozing those seven-year-old girly vibes: the giggles and tears, an obsession with the color pink and unicorns, even red Pippi Longstocking freaking pigtails (which, Olivia noticed, totally clashed with all the pink.). But as far as the detectives could tell, the most contact the two kids had had was a possible bump on the playground. The poor girl couldn't even identify him in the yearbook. Everyone was putting their bet on an older high school girl (yeah, imagine the detective work it took to uncover that!), but Asher wouldn't deter from the bare details of his original story.

Asher himself was a petite boy; no sign of freckles on his too-pale skin, angel blonde hair that pulled into tighter and tighter curls the closer it got to his scalp, his wide, bright blue eyes masked by small, wire-rimmed glasses reminiscent of a young McCaulay Culkin, and skinny, gangly limbs that he likely wouldn't grow into until he was far into his teens. His ears were permanently tinted red as if the small amount of recess time he received each day were poisoning his flesh. Oh, and the stutter. How could anyone not mention the stutter? It wasn't that severe, but it obviously came out when he was nervous as he was now, spilling out all over his p's and d's and t's. It was beyond irritating to Olivia's already strained senses. If only he didn't have to talk at all, she wishes.

"P-p-p-p-p-please can we st-t-t-top this now? I d-d-d-d-d-don't want to d-d-do this anymore. I just want t-t-t-to go home!" Asher whimpers.

"Not yet Asher," Olivia sighs, aggravated. "I need you to tell me what really happened. Who showed you pictures like this?" Olivia holds up one of his less damaging drawings.

He looks away, playing with the tips of his fingernails just under the lip of the table where they're still somehow visible. This annoys Olivia too for some reason. "I alread-dy t-t-t-t-told you! Lily d-d-d-did!" Everything he says comes out in a whine and Olivia sets her teeth, gritting.

"We know she _didn't_, Asher. The only pictures she's seen come from a _Highlights for Kids _magazine." She wants to get this over with, so her next words come out stressed, pressing the boy farther than she rightfully should have, at least in this manner. "_Who_ are you covering for? _Tell me_." She leans further across the table to corner him on his side, make him feel small, powerless, get him to just _cooperate_ already.

"N-no one!" He pounds both of his little fists into the table resolutely, jarring her own fist from beneath her chin which jerks her head – and her migraine – without warning, and before she realizes what's happening, disaster strikes.

She's over the too little table in an instant, grabbing his shoulders with her bare hands, _hard. _Hard enough that he stops breathing in shock, but Olivia doesn't notice because she's literally pulled him up to her level, shaking him with all her might. "STOP lying you pathetic whiny little _brat_! Tell me who the hell did this to you or I swear I'll freaking KILL you mysel,"

And all hell breaks loose.

Elliot and Fin are through the door in less than an instant. Giant arms squeeze against her own, yanking her forcefully from the room. Bringing her wits about her, she kicks her feet against the door but even through the stumble the arms stay strong, much stronger than the last time someone attempted to pull her out of an interrogation room – that previous someone being her Captain – and she can't break through them. She bites down, flinging her body weight and the arms let go unexpectedly – not out of necessity, but out of choice, she can tell by the release of energy that she's been _dropped_, not broken through – tossing her at least five feet away. That's when she realizes the arms belong to Elliot, but there's a red haze covering her eyes and she can't see much through it.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" He screams directly to her face before she shoots herself off the floor.

"He wasn't going to tell us anything!"

Elliot cannot believe his ears, or his eyes for that matter. "Well he certainly isn't now." He scoffs at her. She pounds her right fist into the wall, or at least, that's where he thinks she's aiming. But she hits the two-way mirror, and the hole around her hand shatters upon itself, tiny pieces crashing to the floor. He's on her in a second, turning her and nearly smashing her face against the rest of the two-way mirror that has somehow managed to keep itself together despite her outrage. "_Look_."

She's flaring her teeth, sparks flying directly into his eyes from her own and this is a person he's never seen before, staring back at him, consumed with fury, but he won't let her go. He refuses. "LOOK DAMMIT!" Finally she complies, though she keeps struggling against his grip.

"Liv, he's just a _kid. _A fucking _KID_! _What_ have you _done_?"

But it's like she's blind, apart from everything, no realization, no remorse for the irreparable damage she's just caused. "LET GO OF ME YOU **PRICK**!" And before he knows it, before he can even register what she's just called him – her own _partner _of eleven freaking years – she's gone.

**A/N 2: See what I mean? OMFG! Any speculations people? Where will this go next? What will happen to Olivia? Will she ever open up to Elliot? SO MANY QUESTIONS! (so you'd better review, quick!) oh, and did I mention we've passed the 3,600 hits mark for this story? -grin-**


	5. Truth Takes Time, and Time is Up

**A/N: You've all been dying, I know, and I feel awful for taking this long. But I know you will all be grateful for this update as it is very long (8 computer pgs!) and very meaty. We'll get to see Fin and Elliot, Elliot facing Olivia, Olivia facing well... everything! Oh, and I kinda broke the rules in the last giant chunk of this because I could't decide whose POV to put it in, so it fluctuates between Elliot's and Olivia's. But I trust you guys are all inetelligent enough to figure out which thoughts belong to which of our favorite characters. It just didn't feel right to leave the big stuff to just one over the expense of the other. But first, what you're all DESPERATE to know I'm sure: what the heck happened to Olivia? read on. XD**

**TangoSVU**

She can't breathe. She can't breathe. There's anger, not red hot but liquid black, pure and thick coursing through all of her veins, invading her lungs instead of the oxygen she's used to. She's feeding on it. It is not part of her, it _is _her. She barrels out of the 1-6 like she was just released from a sling shot and there's smoke in her wake. She doesn't know where she's going but it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that there's no air around her because she can't breathe, and she can't think about not breathing anyway. She can't think about anything. She's just a ball of energy, plummeting from the sky; a ball of energy that has just exploded, and the only thing left to do is wait around for the crash.

That happens later, _much _later. She'd gotten the page around eight or so that morning, gone in soon after and set up the room. It's almost sundown now. Her right hand is cut and bruised. She's no doctor, but she thinks she might've fractured a bone. Her clothes are torn randomly, and she's not in her apartment anymore. She can't remember if she ever was. But what she can remember (Asher, she will never forget that name now) haunts her; leaves her terrified.

Only it's a different fear than what she's had to get used to recently. It's not just something "out there", not something abstract, or trapped deep within the recesses of her memories. This is not a fear that will disappear if she's in the right spot, if she turns on enough lights, if she buries herself in work. No, this fear, it has a name, it has a face:_ hers_. It's a fear of herself, and looking down into that water, at her own reflection staring back at her, she knows she's trapped with no way out.

As soon as things have quieted down in the station, Elliot goes looking for her. He wanted to earlier, but Olivia'd kind of left things in shambles. There were kids to calm, parents to reason with, fellow detectives to explain things to (much less a boss), glass to sweep up, a mirror to replace, papers to write. He knew something had to change, something had to break. That's when he decided to approach Fin.

"Hey man," the burly detective grabs Elliot's hand in a common gesture and his voice sounds almost jovial, but both men know now isn't the time. "What's up?"

Elliot shakes his hand, trying to find the right question, the one that will give him the answers he needs. But this person only has some clues, clues that will lead him to the person who _does_ have the answer. "She snapped. I don't know what happened in there, one minute she was fine and the next she was," he sighs and Fin takes up the slack.

"There was nothing you could do about that, Stabler."

"No, I know, but," he stops to pull the man into a nearby empty room. But empty's the wrong word. There are things everywhere: desks, chairs, computers, file cabinets, folders and papers and cords and phones and little lamps even. Souls exist here, in cases old and new, solved and going cold. But there're no actual people in here besides them, and that's what Elliot needs at the moment.

"I know it's not really my business,"

"Then why are you asking?" Fin interrupts.

Elliot twists his hands in front of him while he answers. "I need to know, Fin. Something happened to her and it's, it's _breaking _her. You saw her today, that's not who she is! And that's not the half of it lately…" he pauses, not knowing how much is his right to share. "I just, need you to help me, so I can help her."

Fin nods, leaning against the wall. "I don't know how much help I'll be,"

"I just need you to tell me what happened," Elliot leaps in, forcing the question from between his lips again. "What happened in the basement?"

"I don't know man!" he semi-shouts. "We were all waiting for our TB shots and the damn nurse was taking forever. Then the alarm went off because of some kind of commotion in the mess hall. I went to her cell but she wasn't there so I got another inmate to take me down. The door was locked and there were so many keys," Fin's voice fades out suddenly as the man gets lost in thought.

"What _happened_, Fin. Tell me what happened!"

Taking a deep breath, he shakes his head as if ridding himself of the memory. "When I got there, Harris had her on the floor, handcuffed to a back door, and his flap was hanging out. She, she was screaming like she couldn't breathe."

Elliot's body sinks unknowingly onto the desk in realization. Within a second he's back up again. "Did he rape her?" it comes out accusatory, aggressive, possessive.

"I don't know man!" Fin shouts back in the same tone. The tough, from the streets look the African-American has perfected is failing him. He's frustrated and he's hurt, and in this job especially, having a heart is dangerous. "That's all I saw. Her uniform was still on but I don't know how long he had her down there. She stood up and arrested the prick! Right then and there! I thought she'd be okay. Really," he looks at Elliot, trying to justify his actions. "Really I did. She didn't say _anything_."

And that's the problem, right there and Elliot knows it. She never _said_ anything. He tosses his next words behind his shoulder without thought, the only form of gratitude he expresses to his co-worker. "Tell the Cap I'm taking the rest of the day off," and now it's just Fin in the pseudo-empty room.

It takes Elliot about an hour and a half and the sun has already set low into the horizon, but he finally finds her beneath a bridge deep in Central Park. And he should be upset with her for all the things she's done lately, for all the things she's put him through just in this one freaking _day_, but all he can manage to think is how glad he is to find her sitting underneath a bridge instead of finding her dead below one, or even just leaning over the edge of one for that matter.

He approaches her slowly, talking way before he actually reaches her so he doesn't startle her. He's not sure who he's actually found here, come to think of it. Is she still angry? Will she lash out at him? Or has the rage dissipated by now, leaving just her fragile self? Or will she just be her normal self, intelligent beyond words? Which one is she now? Which one is really _Olivia_ for that matter?

He comes to her cautiously, letting her set the pace, treating her like a victim. But she's still his greatest friend. "You trashed your apartment." He utters, unsure if it's a question or a statement. Then, when there's no reaction, he chooses something more light-hearted. "Good thing you don't own a car." He sits down beside her then, still far enough apart so that not even their knees are touching, and resists the urge to push her bangs out of her eyes.

"You'd better be glad Cragen wasn't there to see that, though granted he's heard more about it than he ever wanted to know, I'm sure." Elliot pauses again to study her face, and he can see no traces of the stranger he saw earlier that day, but just like before, he knows he has to make her face it. That's the only way you get through those kinds of things, and he knows she'd turn around and do it back to him in a heartbeat. Less than that, really, it's the way they fit together: one of them pushing and the other shoving back until the boundaries have been redefined and they are both in their rightful place again. "You know, in children his age, it's possible to cause brain damage with that amount of force."

"Shaken baby syndrome." Her voice is quiet; he almost doesn't hear her at all.

"Cragen wants to see you in his office ASAP. At best, this'll get you suspended. They'll probably make you pay to fix the mirror you sucker punched. Takes a lot to break through one of those, by the way." He says, a hint of admiration in his voice before he switches tones. "Oh and the parents might sue." Another pause, and Elliot becomes more serious. "You could lose your _job_, Olivia." Elliot exclaims, but in his brain that's not what he's most concerned about. The truth is, _he's _losing _her_. He fears she's losing herself.

"How are you feeling? Your hand okay?" He asks, but she doesn't even turn or pretend to answer him. He's hitting a wall and he doesn't know how to break through. But he won't stop trying because he knows what happens when you do: you lose them. That's what happened with Kathy, with his kids. He shut them out, or they shut him out. Or both. And now look where they are. But it won't happen now; not here, not today, and certainly not with Olivia. "What happened in there? Liv?" And suddenly she's leaping before he can even finish the shortened version of her name.

"Did you see him?" This is the moment she finally looks into Elliot's eyes, and her lips are quivering something awful, so much she can barely speak. There's a line down her face too, a tear streak – though there's only one streak instead of the multiple some would expect – so wet it's glistening all the way until it disappears past her chin and yet he sees no tears there at all. "I can't get it out of my head."

And then, silence. He's used to city noise surrounding them: cars and trucks and horns and the general bustle of people on the streets. But here, at this time of night, there's nothing. Even the nature sounds are unfamiliar. They've never been here before. Not just this location, but this, this _place_. He wants to sever the spell, but he can't. Her thoughts shine all over her face, that's how strong her emotions are. So he just waits for her to break through and discover him on the other side, no matter how long it takes.

"His little eyes," she speaks, finally, but her voice keeps splitting in that tender way of hers. "So blue and," he can tell she's wracking her brain for the word. "innocent. He, he was terrified, Elliot. Terrified of, of _me_." She sounds confused. Hurt and lost. _Alone_. But she's not, she's _not_. He won't let her be. Then she gasps, "What have I done?" but there's no way to answer her and he knows it. She ends up continuing, staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing. "He was crying. Did you see him?" That question again, but how could he have missed it? That's not the question she's trying to ask, it's just the only one she has right now. "I knocked the table over. I _picked_ him up off the floor by his _shoulders_. He weighed nothing; I didn't even notice his tiny bones beneath my fingers. I was _so_ _angry_ I didn't even notice. How could I not notice?" she pauses, unsteady beneath all the weight of this reality she's struggling with. But she keeps going, needing to say the words before she can believe it all really happened. Like an alcoholic admitting for the first time that they're addicted, she has to speak every sordid detail to understand it's truth. "I _cursed _at him, El! He's just a little boy, a _victim,_ and all I did was hurt him. I couldn't even _help _him." Her voice falls seamlessly. "I can't help anybody anymore."

The ball is in his court now and he grabs it firmly. "That's not true, Olivia. You've helped more people than anybody else in our unit. So this time you screwed up, so what? We all have. It's not the end of the world."

"You said it yourself," she stops him. "I'm probably gonna lose my job." She moves off the bench and out to the water until she's kneeling over the edge, taking her right hand – the knuckles covered in dried blood, Elliot notices – and touching the surface of the water just enough to send a single ripple out into the shadows. "I don't know who that is anymore."

Thinking, he steps beside her, looking past her at her reflection. Her hair is flung every which way, her clothing – a deep red shirt beneath her knee-length black leather jacket, pinstripe slacks in an indistinguishable shade, a plain belt where he expects to find her badge and holster hanging, but he can't see that well – disheveled, her make-up half wiped off and the rest of it hopelessly smudged. Her hand is wavering as it hovers millimeters above the water. The woman he saw today, the woman he's been seeing these past few days; he doesn't recognize her either. But one thing strikes him: Olivia's eyes are dark, unyielding and penetrating straight to his heart even through this weak reflection. And he knows, without a doubt, that his Olivia is _in_ there, somewhere. He just has to find her. He just has to prove it to her. "I do."

Her reaction is instantaneous. "GODDAMNIT!" She smashes her open palm into the water, destroying the image before them. Then she hugs her arms to her chest and lays her forehead on the ground. Her shoulders shake. He knows she's crying.

"Oh Liv," he draws her into his arms and she covers her eyes, pulling her elbows in tight to her body. "I talked to Fin. I, I need you to tell me what happened in the basement. Tell me _everything_." Elliot frees one of his arms to remove a hand from her face until he's focusing on her eyes. "Liv, _you _need to tell me what happened."

The crying intensifies momentarily, and he just holds her until they start to diminish. Finally she wipes her nose with a staggering breath and lifts her head slightly. "Jail was unlike anything I've ever seen before, Elliot. There's no respect, no boundaries, no allies. Whatever your C.O. says is the law, whether it would be on the outside or not. They said so many things that an outsider would take as normal, but in there it was sexual harassment. And you just, _took_ it, because if you didn't, it got worse."

But this isn't what he was talking about; this isn't what she most needs to say. "Liv," he tries, but she puts up her hand to stop him, knowing already.

"We were all in the mess hall," and the whole thing starts.

"We were waiting for our TB tests. Parker came over to us and told me to get up." _Hang on, I didn't get my shot yet. _Olivia hears herself say in her head, so irritated that he'd called her _fish _yet she still had to respond with C.O. _You'll get one later, maybe even two pricks. _And it's that way of speaking again, that's only significant in jail. She knew what pricks he meant, everybody did. But how to explain it here on the outside and to Elliot? "People got upset, started yelling at the C.O. for not telling us anything about the outbreak. I'd had my eye on Parker. I was just _waiting_ for it. So when he started yelling at us to sit down and we refused," It took them a long time to sound the alarm. Harris didn't yell over the speaker for everyone to hit the walls until everyone was good and riled up. Why had he waited? Had he wanted them to get out of control? What had she missed?

"I figured something would happen. I hadn't even shifted my weight towards him, and he wrenched me around to slap the cuffs on me, and when he couldn't get them right he slammed me onto the table. It made me angry, but I just kept thinking about being on the other side, and how many people I've smashed against surfaces myself to arrest them." She shakes her head, bringing herself back into the memory. "But then Parker handed me off to Harris, and he was taking me to the hole." Her voice sounds, well, _normal_, of all things, he thinks. But none of this is normal, and when she turns to him, her face proves it.

"He was supposed to take me to the hole; he _said_ he was taking me to the hole." She's speaking like a child who is trying to make sense of what happened, even though there is no sense to be made. It's like she feels she has to iterate things exactly as they occurred so that she cannot be blamed. But who could ever blame her for any of this?

"We didn't go to the hole. We went to the basement." Olivia begins to make motions with her hands as her words tumble over each other, one after the other after the other. "My heart started to beat faster, butterflies appeared in my stomach." _The hole is over in C-block, what are we doing down here? _"But I didn't know what to do. So I said I was sorry. I, I _apologized _to that, that _man_." He knows that's not the word she wants to say, but the need for justice in her heart won't let her be mean right now.

"He said we were past apologies, and before I could make sense of what he was talking about, I saw a mattress in front of us." This is where she stops, and for all his life, Elliot wishes he could just take all of this away from her so that she wouldn't have to hurt anymore and he hates this. He _hates_ it, these limits of mortality, of being human and bound by the laws of nature. Being a man, he needs to be able to fix things – especially when it comes to his family, and Olivia may not be a blood relative but she's got his heart and that damn well better make her family – but this is something he just can't fix for her.

There's no way to describe her voice as the stilted words appear, or her face, the pain stark in her eyes. There's a light breeze blowing her hair, and a piece is tickling his nose. That's what he chooses to remember: that slight itch on his nose that he couldn't brush away. It makes the rest of it not hurt so much.

"He grabbed my chin, turned my face towards his and spoke to me real close. I asked him what he wanted; I tried to bargain with him. But it was already too late." She thought she could handle it, that's what she'd told Cragen. She should've been able to handle it, that wasn't who she was – a target, a victim – so what happened? "He threw me down and I started screaming at him to get off me; I screamed for help. It was all I could think to do but nobody could hear me, and even if they could, nobody cared, and he knew that too. He knew everything."

She hates remembering, she'd done everything she could so this wouldn't have to happen. She hates sitting here at the edge of this damn lake and telling Elliot everything. But she's started now and she just can't stop. She's bottled it so deep that the slightest leak has caused a levee to break.

"He picked me up by my waist and grabbed my chin again, pushed me against a big pole." _Hmmm, you must like it rough. _She couldn't get that voice out of her head. It was always there, egging her on, telling her things were different than they should've been. _Yeah, you have a watch on? I'm gonna take my time with you. _"He kissed me," but that didn't do the act justice. Hard and sloppy as it was he hadn't just kissed her; he'd swallowed her up, taken everything from her, ripped out her heart. _No! Please don't! Don't! Please don't! _She kept screaming even though his mouth was over hers, using his tongue to grab the words straight from her throat before they could even touch her lips.

She can feel the mattress pressed up against her face again. "I finally threw myself off the bed when he dropped his belt but he yanked me up beneath my arms. I kicked out only there was nothing to push against and I couldn't get him off balance."

It's like a statement they'd ask for in a squad room, full of details they could use to M.O. the perp. But Olivia's not asking the questions and he's not taking the notes. Elliot doesn't want this play by play. He doesn't want any of this horrible nightmare. He doesn't know how to hold all of this information for her until she's ready to deal with it. He has nowhere to put it with all of his own baggage. But if she doesn't say it all to him now, it will just hang between them forever, a constant barrier. This changes everything for them, and yet it changes nothing.

"He threw me against another pole, face first this time. It hurt." A simple statement, but there's no other way to put it. It physically _hurt. _A lot. He made sure it did. "He told me to shut up but I couldn't. My voice was all I had left." And it didn't do any good. Often victims admitted to succumbing and being quiet, even the ones that had been in a place where someone could've heard them. They felt guilty. They felt responsible. Olivia'd told victim after victim that by surviving, they'd beat him and that's all that mattered. But from this side that means nothing. She's left with nothing.

"There wasn't a part of his body that wasn't smashed up against mine." And even though it doesn't make sense, she doesn't remember the feel of his boner against her ass. Instead she can feel his breath hot against her ear._ Haha, yeah I love this. _ "He _laughed_."And all she did was scream even though her throat was already so raw it throbbed.

"Then he stepped back, saying he was gonna make me more comfortable, and undid one of the cuffs." The left one, because he had assumed she was right-handed and thus it would be her weaker hand. Maybe so, but that was where he'd made his mistake. She'd elbowed him in the nose and immediately turned around to punch him in the face with her right. Then she pushed off the pole and her feet were beneath her. "I ran and hid behind some boxes out of the light." She should've gotten away, she should've been free but she hadn't hit him hard enough. She hadn't done enough! She'd failed herself.

_You little bitch. _But she wasn't little. She was a cop and maybe that meant that she was a bitch, 'cause she knew sometimes she was. But she wasn't little, she wasn't helpless. She worked out. She could beat him on the streets any day. She could kick his sorry little ass into next year just by _thinking_ about it. At least, she could've, if she'd been Detective Benson, damn Olivia Serena Benson. But she'd been Kat then. Katrina Ray Lewis and she couldn't save herself. She'd panicked. She hadn't acted like a cop at all.

Like a child he could rescue he sees her there in his mind: crouching in a dark corner, trying to steady her breathing, calming her tears, crossing her arms across her body in an attempt to hug away the hurt, a million thoughts rushing through her head and yet not processing any one of them. That's what's happening to him now. He's thinking a million things and still nothing makes sense. None of this story makes sense to him. He can't piece it together with the woman he sees in front of him, the woman who has sweat and bled beside him for all these years, tougher than any other partner he's ever had or known and ever will, inside and out. But in this story she is unfamiliar to him, someone other than herself; she is damaged, defeated, victimized.

She's living it, in her mind as she spills out the story. She remembers a case they had once with a serial rapist, and one of his victims had been a schizophrenic. When they interviewed her in the hospital, she'd freaked out. Dr. Hendrix said it was because schizophrenics experience everything all over again when you make them retell it, or even when they just remember it. She hadn't understood that then, but she's starting to now. She's thinking it must've been like this: all the sensations again – not just the ones shooting spikes inside her body but the cement cold at her back as it seeps through her thin orange uniform, the wood crate beside her ragged up against her hands, the grit inside her mouth and beneath her fingernails, the stale smell in her nose that doesn't smell like death because she's smelled plenty of that in her life but still somehow gives her the essence of it – everywhere, all the emotions rushing back through her veins, the thoughts piling inside of her mind. She doesn't know how to do this anymore, but just like then, she doesn't know how to make it stop.

_You wanna play games, huh? _No, she doesn't. She never wanted to play this game at all, ever, that's why she's been skirting around it her whole life. "He wracked his baton against a chain link fence just the way a child would use a stick during recess. It was all just a game to him."_Good, because I know 'em all._

She was afraid. She didn't have enough time to find a way out. She had to figure out what to do; she had to make some choices, now, before it was too late._ You have two choices, you can come out now and make it up to me, _A crash; it makes her jump. He's getting closer. _ Or I can tell them that you tried to escape and I had to use necessary force. Hmm. _It's not a laugh, it's more a sound of preemptive victory but she doesn't understand why he doesn't yell it from the top of his lungs if it is. _And you ended up dead. _She'd like that, actually, to not have to live through this, or at least not afterwards. _The longer I have to wait, the harder it's gonna be. You wanna play hide and seek, huh? Okay, but when I find you, you're it. _

There's a mantra in her head, fervent, unrelenting. _Don't find me, don't find me, don't find me. I'm not here, don't find me, don't find me, don't find me. _More noises and suddenly there's light shining bright in her face. It's not the light at the end of the tunnel though, she isn't free; it's the train running her over.

_Hello. _He breathes, looking down at her. He's smiling. Smiling at her like he has all the time in the world, like she is the only thing he wants. But she doesn't feel wanted. She feels violated. "He found me," _Guess who's ass is mine now? _

She has to try again. _Okay, okay you win. _And she gets up, puts her hands towards him defensively, like a dog showing their belly to the Alpha male.

_That's more like it. Come here. _He motions with his head._ Easy, _she pleads."There's a hit to my stomach with his baton, and then one to the back of my knees that forces me down." _And that's to let you know who's in charge. _But he wasn't in charge, he couldn't be. "I jabbed him in his crotch and took off again." She knows this is her last chance to do something, to get away. Like Bambi charging across the field, she gives it all she's got. But she's in plain sight and the hunter always wins: the door's locked and she has no place else to go.

In his head, Elliot is categorizing the bruises: the bad one on her cheek that make-up can't even fully cover now much less in the beginning, the cut above her eye, the welts on her hand, the other ones he's sure the clothes are covering because she hasn't worn anything but sweaters and turtlenecks lately. He wants to kiss the pain away, move the blood to other parts of her body where she needs it more, like her heart, to help her recover from all of the sin in this God-forsaken world.

"I pounded my palm against the window as I twisted the handle, but I couldn't get it open."

_Shut up!_ "He punched me and I fell. My right hand was still on the doorknob but he grabbed it so he could cuff it to the bars on top of the door. I was sitting on the floor against it, with one arm over my head and the other pushing against him." _Shut up! _"I couldn't move." _You bite me, and you're dead. _Grunting. "I kept shouting, trying to resist but he had my head and," She can't say it, but Elliot knows, somehow. He grabs her hand – not gently, not briefly, but tightly, fiercely – and tries to pull her out the other side.

Only there's nowhere to go but here. Just _here_. This is the moment she can't get rid of, this is the moment that made the case, this is the moment that has ruined her life: his calloused fingers on her face, the smell of him striding straight up her nostrils, the view of his package directly before her eyes – what he's trying to shove into her mouth.

_Shut up! _And she's crying now. This is the end and she knows it. She closes her eyes…

And Elliot's there, somehow, moving her hair from the cage of her lashes. She looks up at him, blinks. "What it must've been like for her," and she trails off the end of the sentence that was already incomplete.

It's a fragment he can't follow. "For who? Ashley?" she shakes her head and he's confused. She looks at their entwined fingers until she can't tell which are hers and which are his, until the lines blur and this world fades back into the past.

"All I could think about was my mom," she cries, and there it is in this wide open space between them. It's out; what all of this comes back to, the thing that has haunted her her entire life, the whole reason she's here today, right now, the whole reason she ever put herself in that situation, the whole reason she ever took this damn job to begin with, the whole reason she was born at all and is alive today: Serena was raped, and now nearly forty years later, Olivia is about to be too.

Words pass over her as the air suddenly moves. The world goes on even though she's still stuck in the moment. _Let her go now! _It's Elliot. No, no, that's not right. It should've been Elliot, but he'd already tried to get information out of the prison inmates. He couldn't go in, he would've been ID'd. They'd sent her in with Fin instead. It's Fin. Gotta be.

_Get the hell out of here! _Harris. He will still get his way.

Then a strange interplay occurs, one she can't follow even though she knows it's between Fin and Harris. _Police, move away from her, move away! She's trying to escape! And you had to drop your pants to stop her?_

Harris has backed away. Fin has his baton against Harris' neck. They are both standing over her as she sits there on the floor, rivers of tears down her cheeks. And it's like the fog clears.

"Fin showed up, pulled him away from me." This is not who she is. She does not belong on that floor. She is supposed to be beside Fin, beside her partner, arresting the perps. And there is a perp right in front of her who needs to be taken in. "I stood."

_Lowell Harris, you're under arrest for raping Ashley Tyler. _

Fin again: _and the attempted murder of a police officer._

This catches Harris' attention. He looks at her, realizing, seemingly for the first time, just what he's done. _You're a cop?_

This is when the anger comes. This is when Olivia Serena Benson returns. This is when she faces him. _Who's the bitch now?_

"And then it was over." She finishes, her eyes now dry, her throat still raw even though nearly everything she's said in the past hour has not risen past a whisper.

"But it's not over." Elliot states.

She won't give in. "He's in jail now, just awaiting trial."

"He _victimized _you, Olivia," Elliot cries out, exasperated. "And you need to face that. It doesn't matter if he's in jail for what he did to Ashley Tyler or not. For you, _nothing's_ over."

She swallows, staring back into the water. "It has to be." A breath, once again with the illusion of a soul that's withering before him. "I need it to be." And all he can do there on that bench in the middle of the night at Central Park is to hold her so that the emptiness she feels inside won't let her float away from him.


	6. Decisions and Questions

**A/N: I know, I know, as usual, shame on me, it's been 4ev. I won't give you the excuses, they're probably not efficient or whatever. So anyway, update, yay! Again, I think I've taken us on a slightly different path than you would expect, but just trust me, you'll feel comfortable with it soon! No worries. I plan on including integral scenes from the newest Season 10 epis but haven't quite gotten there yet, especially since I have no real set time for when any part in this story is occurring, beside after Undercover (go figure, haha). We'll see. Oh! I've been watching the very early seasons of SVU – which I thought I knew pretty well – but turns out there's lots of things I'd forgotten! For one, there are sssooo many great playful banter kind of E/O moments. Where has that all gone these last few years? Sheesh! And for another, so many character defining things were set into motion if you pay attention to them (which I have, haha), and as such, you will see a lot more things alluding back to certain episodes as this story continues. If you can't remember which epi it's from, just ask. Maybe I'll remember! XD. Besides the DVDs though, I gained a lot of helpful ideas from some other great FF authors here! So I'd like to thank**kaitco **for her story**My Salvation**and ESPECIALLY**Mousie962 **and**MaddyM**for their absolutely BEAUTIFUL and AMAZING story**Proximity**, which is actually on svufanfiction dot net but well worth the mention here. If you haven't read that yet, you are sorely missing out. Anyway, enough of this banter, enjoy!**

**TangoSVU**

He drops her off at her apartment, waits like he always has until she flicks the lights. He doesn't see her the next day, or the day after, or the day after that. Cragen's glare is enough to stop him from asking the questions he's dying to know, and nobody else in the department knows anything either. It's been nearly four days since he's seen her, and he's used to seeing her nearly 24 hours a day. He calls but she doesn't pick up. He leaves message after message on her cell full of his concern (and pathetic attempts at humor, tinges of anger and eventually apathy – and yes, he realizes how that makes him look) but she doesn't call back. He's worried that he pushed her too hard, made her go too far too soon. But really what he's worried about, is that he doesn't know if she'll be coming back at all. Not counting the fed job, she'd left once before, of her own free will, and it was hard enough knowing she could waltz back in any moment. If she left by force, however… He stops himself there. He just can't imagine doing this job without her.

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She hasn't been suspended, officially. Cragen had called before Elliot had even found her, telling her not to even bother to show up at the squad room anytime soon except to drop off her badge and gun. She did that late the next night, at a time when she knew he wouldn't be around. She placed them on his chair where they were invisible to the outside eye, but to her own it felt like the whole world was watching this silent interplay. By some miracle Asher's parents had yet to file a lawsuit, and she didn't even want to imagine what kind of finagling Cragen and/or Casey had had to do to arrange that. But she'd still been shunned. No, she'd displaced herself, by not keeping in control of things.

And that's how it always works for her. Whenever she needs it most (whatever _it _is: be it company, something to do, comfort, support, etc. etc. etc.), it is never there, and not because it has disappeared or been taken away from her so much as it is because of the uncanny ability she has to sever any sort of ties without even trying. She just seems to have this knack for effortlessly destroying the things that stabilize her. She's been doing it since she was born.

Take her mom for instance. The moment Olivia was conceived, she'd torn her mother's heart apart. There was no way she could truly love her daughter, even on those rare days when Serena had actually tried. Olivia remembers a time when her mother had hugged her, tried to console her. But the instant she'd started kissing away her young daughter's tears she'd had to break away. Serena ran into the bathroom and spat into the sink before brushing her teeth. She'd looked at Olivia then, a mix of anger and fear and all around disgust, and not for the first time. Then she'd climbed into the shower to wash away any traces of being a mother while Olivia sat on the stoop just staring at her bleeding knee.

She'd had this teacher once too, in middle school, who refused to be blinded by her sarcastic wit and would glance at her questioningly when she'd show up with a new bruise or cut and, in general, just gave her extra attention in comparison to the other kids in class. Olivia'd always been a smart kid, trying to compensate for all the wrongs her life had already caused or something, but that teacher worried her. She'd started to trust Ms. Allen, which made her vulnerable. Olivia cut the class the rest of the year and took it with a different teacher over summer school. There's no telling how her life would've been different if that teacher had discovered the truth behind everything.

Then she had to consider her fiancé. She'd finally found someone who loved her as she was, the only person that would call on her birthday just to say "I'm glad you were born!" even though her mother refused to celebrate it. He had tried to protect her. They had shared each other's secrets. She was only sixteen but she was ready for a different life, assured that she'd found her soul mate. He'd been her first. But she'd ruined that too, just by choosing the guy she did: a student in one of the graduate classes her mother taught. Ultimately, he'd chosen his reputation and his grade (not to mention avoiding the threat of jail time) over his love for her. By now, she can't even be sure it was really love at all. Too much has changed.

And then there was the job. She wanted to help people, wanted to use her athletic abilities and her knowledge to help prevent crimes. But the people she kept seeing were already too damaged. Soon she'd realized that it was only the children she could try to save, whether directly or through their parents. So she'd requested a transfer to the Special Victims Unit. Her past came out, as those things always do, and even though she hadn't actually planned it that way, it brought her so many steps closer to solving her mother's case. Surely then Serena would forgive her; surely then Olivia would've paid her dues. Truthfully, she'd wanted to figure out who she was too, something she thought finding her father could do. But that only set her up for failure and disappointment, and over the years the crimes just became worse not better; the victims more haunting. Everything was personal; her whole soul was always at stake. Soon it wasn't just a job. She no longer kept in contact with college classmates, much less any friends outside the unit. She didn't have time for serious dating and rarely even slept in her own damn apartment. No, it wasn't just a job, it became her life. It still is. It's all she has. It made her go too far, risk too much, and now she's lost control. Now there might not even be a job anymore. She threw away the only solid thing she had.

And from that angle all she can see is Elliot. He's left her a ton of messages, but she doesn't know how to respond to him so she hasn't picked up. There's too much between them now, but it has nothing to do with their last conversation. It just has to do with everything they've ever been through together or apart. He ties into the job, surely, but he's more than that, too. He was there at the start – he _was _the beginning – and no matter what happened (or didn't happen) in-between everything, she has no doubt, somehow, that he'll be the end, too. It was all very systematic; a cause and effect, perpetual kind of motion. She'd fought for his approval, at first. She'd been the young, naïve rookie. Almost perfectly so, rather like a real-life version of type-casting: she'd thrown up during cases, broken down crying (often in front of victims, no less), been overenthusiastic with the perps, injured her hands from taking it all out on the punching bag, pushed child witnesses too far, gone nights without sleep just to close a case and prove her dedication… she'd done it all. And she's never thought of their relationship as anything more than a great partnership, a trustworthy friendship, certainly never anything romantic. But as strange as it sounds, she doesn't ever remember _not _loving him, either. She needs him to make sense of this messed-up world; they fit together like the final pieces of a giant puzzle. Without him, something within her just doesn't _function_. She can't imagine life without him. But he's not hers to demand. He's not hers to need. He never was. He's always had Kathy, four (now five) kids too. He's always had a life that didn't revolve around her. He _doesn't_ _need_ her. But she needs him, and that kind of thing doesn't work one-sided. When she needs him the most, he won't be there because he _can't_. It's not who he is to her.

And that leaves her here, where she somehow knew she'd always end up: jobless, purposeless, friendless, hopeless, worthless, you name it just always _alone_; and with no one to blame but herself.

And that's how she comes to make her last defining decision.

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She walks into the precinct with a purposeful stride, a gait full of confidence that she doesn't feel. But she also doesn't see any other option before her. She's at a loss for how to fix things, and this is the only thing she can think of. From what she can figure, it's been long overdue anyway.

When she barges into his office, Cragen looks up in surprise that quickly turns into irritation. "What are you doing here, Benson? I thought I told you to take some time off."

"I am." She agrees. "In fact, I'm quitting."

"You're what?" He exclaims.

She answers fervently. "I'm leaving SVU. I'm leaving this whole," she searches for the word. "mess. Permanently. And _don't_," she raises a finger at her Captain – _ex-Captain, _she realizes – before he can interrupt. "bother trying to stop me. We both know IAB is gonna have my ass as soon as you try to instate me back into the squad. At the very least, they'll toss me on desk duty in Narcotics or Homicide or some other hole in the wall spot. I've already filled out all the paperwork." Tossing the stack to him because she can't bear to get any closer than she already, she sighs. "I don't belong anywhere but here, Captain, so I might as well leave with what little dignity I have left." And before he can try to refute her rant, she turns on her heel and goes back to where she came from.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Elliot didn't see her go in but he definitely sees her storm out. What the hell just happened? "Olivia!" He yells it, but it's still a question all the same. She doesn't even glance his direction. "Liv, wait." He rushes after her, grabs her arm to make her stop in the middle of the hallway and he flashes back to a moment exactly reversed from this, when she was the one following him. _Hey! Is there something you want to say to me? Because if you do, then let's hear it. _He'd been angry at her then, and he can tell by her pace that she's angry at him now. But what did he do?

Her lips are pursed, her mouth so taunt she can barely spit the words out at him. "Let me go, Elliot." But it's not vindictive, it's not harsh, it's just, determined. Resolute. Immovable.

"Olivia, just talk to me." He's confused.

She looks up at him then, and there's a pleading in her eyes for him to do something, but what? "I'm through with talking." And she slips through his arms. Not breaks away or pulls through, but slips, because he's let go of his grip on her arm. The more he fights to keep her his, the more she seems to fall.

He watches her, wondering what he said and what's going on, when suddenly, at the last possible moment as the squad room doors begin to close, she brings her head over her left shoulder and meets his eyes. "Goodbye, Elliot." And before he has time to register what she's just uttered – because it was just that, nothing more than a whisper really, and yet it's still managed to cross over this giant space between them – the door obscures her face, and when it gently swings back in the opposite direction, she's already gone.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

She can't believe she just did that. She's running and she knows it. Running away from her memories, running away from her past, running away from her mother and her father, running away from her job, running away from Elliot… God, she's running away from her _life_. But running is the only thing she's ever been good at. And as sad as that is, the saddest part of all is that _no one's ever followed her_.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

She's running. From what, he's not sure, but he knows it even before Cragen comes out of his office, holding up a thin stack of papers as a sort of peace offering, as if anything on those papers could explain any of the events that have just transpired. "Benson just quit." He states flatly.

The entire room freezes but Elliot still dares to question it. "She quit the team?"

"Quit the force entirely." Cragen responds.

"Wait," Fin starts. "She's not gonna be a cop anymore?"

"Damn," Munch mutters beneath his breath. "What'd you do Elliot, finally confess your undying love for her?"

Elliot's eyes narrow into slits. "Shut up Munch, before I punch you in the face."

"Wait a minute guys," Cragen interludes as Fin steps into the space between them, prepared to have his partner's back. "Things have been a bit crazy around here. All of you have been in the unit way longer than the usual; she probably just needs some time." None of them can deny that fact as they look around, sharing the years of horrors from all the many cases they've handled or passed through here.

Cragen continues. "Elliot, go talk to her. See if you can calm her down but don't push her. She'll come around. Munch, Fin, I need you to run a canvas over on Spruce Street. We got a tip from one of our fliers there that someone spotted our," and his voice fades out because Elliot's already grabbed his jacket and started following the trail of her scent that she left behind. Mandarin. That's what it's always been; and he breathes it in like oxygen, giving into the security that everything will turn out alright. It has to.

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She doesn't answer his knocks, so he takes the spare key out of the overhead light and peeks his head in before fully opening the door. "Olivia?" He can hear her feet shuffle. She's here, he knows it, and let's himself cross the threshold. She's here in her apartment, packing things into boxes. There are things he notices right away: all of the lights are on even though it's still early morning and the sun is blinding through the shade-less windows, the blankets are off the couch, the dishes are grouped upon the kitchen counter, and the whole room smells like disinfectant and bleach. What he doesn't notice – because he doesn't know – is that she hasn't turned any light off in days because she's still afraid of the dark, that she's been sleeping on her couch, that she's rarely eaten off of those plates anyway, or that the place smells like that because before now she's never been there long enough to bother trying to clean up what little mess she might've made.

"Olivia?" He calls again, and then walks towards her room.

She looks shocked to find him there even though he's announced his presence multiple times. "Elliot. What are you doing here?" Her voice is chipper and casual, but she doesn't seem happy to see him and he's not buying into her act.

"What do you think I'm doing here, Olivia? Did you really quit?"

"No, I did it to get a rise out of the squad, just for the hell of it." And there is it, the return of the banter, a remnant of what they used to have. But it's tainted now. It's not just sarcastic but also disdainful. "God, Stabler," she gasps, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "why do you think?"

He blinks, stutters in his own way – by pursing his lips in-between each slowly spoken word. "I, I don't know, Olivia. That's why I came to talk to you. I _don't _know.

"Is this about Harris?" He questions gently, his suspicions already evident.

She stands back up with a jolt. "Yes. No." He's not sure which one is the answer, and he doesn't think she knows either. Furiously, she begins throwing clothes from a drawer into a duffel bag. He remembers how Kathy refused to let him pack in his military duffel because she fussed that she had to re-iron all of his shirts when he put them in there, and that's what he's thinking now: how wrinkled her shirts will be when she takes them out, wherever it is she's planning on ending up. That's when he realizes what she's doing: she's packing her life away.

"Where do you think you're going?" When she doesn't answer, he gets beside her and – one by one – pulls out her clothes and places them gently back into the dresser before them. "Don't run away from it now, Olivia. Don't let him do this to you. Do you remember Richard White?" All she does is watch, immobile, as he rearranges her things so respectfully. "You didn't let him get to you, even though everyone in the station – including me – was telling you that you should. He had a knife on you, down on the ground, and you never lost your composure, you never misplaced that fire. But you are _now_. You are. The fire's still there, I can see it, but you're using it on yourself. You're letting Harris get to you and you can't do that. You just can't. You can't let Harris,"

This is when Olivia stops him. Flinging herself off the mattress, she yanks up her clothes with such ferocity that when she squeezes them to her chest the motion causes her to stumble a couple steps backward, a stray lavender silk blouse tumbling from beneath her hands to land haphazardly around the room. "THIS ISN'T ABOUT HARRIS!" She screams. And then – as if to make her point – chucks her entire load so that it joins the collage of clothes already strewn against the carpet before making a bee-line for the couch in the other room.

Elliot follows her cautiously. "I don't understand." He says simply, daring to sit beside her. "If it's not about Harris, than why are you quitting?" It's what he says, but not what she hears. _Why are you leaving me? _

"I just," but how to make him understand when she doesn't even understand? "It's a lot of things."

"Tell me." He encourages but she shakes her head, turning away from him. He scoots an inch closer to her, trying to remember the time when he could always tell exactly what was on her mind, could figure out exactly what was bothering her. "It's everything," he suggests.

She lunges at his explanation. "Yeah. Everything." But then she stops again; he hears that all-too familiar sigh pass between her lips.

"And you're sure that bastard doesn't have anything to do with it?"

"Yes. No."

"There you go again."

"No, really I just," the words always came easy to her before, but now he can see her struggling. Not to find the right words per say, but as if she were trying to decide how much to divulge to him. She's never done that before, and that hurts. "It's not _just _about Harris – like you said, it's about everything – but Harris is _something_, so that's still part of everything."

He waits for her to continue, but she doesn't lead him where he's expecting to go.

"I was walking around the other day, can't remember where really, but I saw these people and I just can't help wondering…"

"Wondering what?"

Their eyes meet. "How come?" She breathes. "I see these people that go to parks on Sundays pushing their children in strollers, laughing and having a great time. They go to the grocery store and buy the family size packages and go down every aisle because they have the time to debate whether or not they forgot to put something on their flowery-etched shopping list. The couples that take long lunches and walk holding hands; the people that surely smile in their sleep. And I just don't get it. I always see them and I just can't for the life of me understand _who they are_, you know? Why isn't that us, huh? Why can't we be those people? How come they get _that_ life and all we get is _this_?" She spreads her arms out in front of her but he knows she's not motioning to her increasingly bare apartment space. She's talking about work; she's talking about the cases, about the stuff they swim through every day; she's talking about the darkness and the anger and the evil and the shame. "How come we can't have that too?"

She pauses and he thinks about saying that he had that life at one point, with Kathy and the kids in the beginning, but that he didn't want it. Something in him couldn't trust the simplicity of it. No matter how perfect it looks, there's still going to be something wrong with it, and expecting the perfection just makes the fall that much harder. The problem was, he'd always held to that, and Kathy never did.

Before he can tell her all that though, she's rushing through her next words as if she's afraid that she'll lose the ones that are supposed to come afterward. "I come home to an empty apartment every damn day, if I even go home at all. Sometimes I don't bother to cook anything because it's just me, and what's the use? I haven't seriously dated anyone besides that damn job in more years than I can count. Relationships just take too much work and I put all of myself into work anyway. I sleep alone. Without that job, I'm nothing and I'm tired of being alone. I hate it. I hate it!" She's about to cry, but the determination and pride he can see through her eyes just won't let her, not yet. _Enough, enough_, he hears her pray. "I just, I want to know what that other life _feels_ like," her voice pleads into the empty space between them. "Even if it was just for a day, I'd give it all up, just to, just to know what I'm missing."

"But Olivia you're not missing anything, you're,"

She cuts him off. "There's a reason people transfer out of our unit so often, Elliot. But we never did. We just, _didn't_. Why did we think we had to be tougher than everyone else, even though we weren't?" _Because we were doing it _together_, just the two of us, together, could make it. _He thinks. And as if she's heard his thoughts, there's an answer. "But we _can't_ handle it. There's too much of it, Elliot. I mean look at your marriage, or lack thereof really, and my pathetic excuse of a life. Something in us is _broken_, El, everything about us and around us has been ruined by this environment we thought we could tame." She staggers in a breath and whispers with her exhale. "I can't remember now why we even bothered to try."

She gets up then, waifs her way over to her window and looks down into the street absentmindedly. He can't let her have the last say though; this isn't something that can just be decided without him. He comes up behind her, touches the back of his hand to her cheek, so delicate and warm. _**"What happened to you?"**_ But that's not what he meant to say, not at all.

_You. _She thinks. But another word comes out of her mouth instead and she leaves it at that, tucking the half-truth inside the folds of her cheek like a hard candy she can't chew and swallow yet: _**"SVU."**_

**A/N: Please please PLEASE review and tell me what you think! - squeals -**


	7. Letting Go

**A/N: I know I always say this, but I apologize that it's taken me literally a year or more for the next update. I have been writing the whole time, but just lots of little snippets that didn't start pulling themselves together until today for some reason. But that means there's lots of delicious tidbits for those seasoned SVUers who really know their epis. XD I think this story is nearing it's end, with only one or perhaps two more chapters to go. Comment your suggestions! Actually just comment period, haha. I hope somebody's still following this story after my horrid absence. I do love you guys! Here we start in Liv's point of view, but end up in El's. Enjoy!**

**Olivia:**

They sit in silence for a little while, just breathing in the stale air around them. It's not a peaceful moment, and not serene either, but there's certainly something to be said about being in a place that's _still_. Everything about the world – especially their section of it – is just go, go, go. The problem is most people never figure out that there's nowhere to actually go _to_. But she and Elliot are just standing there, overlooking the ledge beneath the window of her apartment living room. They're close to each other but nothing's touching, and yet still she can feel his fingers on her face and the want makes her ache.

"Why did you do it, Liv?" He asks, finally. "So many other people could've gone in there, why did it have to be you?"

She rubs her lips together, remembering. Her life _before _had made sense, there had been a reason _before_, she knows it. There had to have been. Then she sees the face before hers, and it all comes rushing back: searching those eyes with her own, looking for the truth and finding… the barren wasteland of brokenness, shattered by pain. She remembers the fire burning in her chest, the fire that had led her straight into Cragen's office as soon as Ashley went home. The hope, the desire, the need to change the world, even if for just this one young girl and her mother. "Because Ashley told me I couldn't do anything."

"And who on earth told you that you had to prove yourself to a kid?" Elliot questions, not in a sense of mockery, but of pure, honest-to-God disbelief.

How can she explain that she felt she owed it to the girl, for everything? Way back in the beginning, when Ashley first looked at her during the ride to the hospital, she was still just a case, then. There was nothing special about her. Young, yes, but they'd faced younger. There had always been a case worse than the one you were currently facing; there was hope in that. And if not, you took hope – as awful as it sounds – that this one wouldn't stay the worst. But then, then the tables turned, like they always do, somehow.

Unexpectedly, the girl fought back. She was pulling things off the shelves, the lifesaving materials crashing around the three of them. She was struggling so much her IV nearly came out. The EMT yelled at Olivia to grab the girl and make her stop, but the girl was fighting Olivia too. Olivia'd had to sit on her, grab the girl's hands together in one of her own and then hold her shoulders down with the other. Eventually sedated, the EMT looked at Olivia. _I've never seen a rape victim attack a cop. _She looked back to the girl, at the quiet, gentle face who was only moments before angry and frightened. _Neither have I. _She told the EMT.

Suddenly, she wasn't just a case anymore. She was _Ashley_, she was different. Olivia fought her hardest for that girl. And still, regardless of all of her attempts, Ashley had lost her mother anyway. "She needed something to hang onto. I couldn't leave her alone."

Elliot shakes his head. "Olivia, that's _not _your job! You're responsible for tracking down clues to catch the perp and bringing a solid case to the ADA. _None _of that includes putting yourself directly in the line of fire to get yourself attacked!" He looks at her sincerely, desperate to understand her motives and obviously angry at himself for letting her go in the first place. "You can't save everyone, Liv."

"No one else was gonna go," she murmurs, blinking up at him. "No one else was gonna stop him." A pause, "I had to do it. I just," this time an exasperated sigh. "I had to, El."

And if she looks back on everything she's done in this job, really on everything she's ever done in her _life_, that's been the reason. She felt she _had _to do so. As if that was why she had been brought into this world: to right the wrongs, to rescue those in _desperation_. There has to be a point when that's enough. There just has to be, because it's all she has. And she wonders – selfishly, and painfully admitting to herself and only her – if this is what happens: you give it all and try your hardest to save others because you can't save yourself.

Again, he breaks the silence first. "So…" and it's an open-ended statement if ever there was one.

"So what?"

"So what else?" When she still doesn't reply he clarifies again. "You've given me two things, and while granted two is plural, I highly doubt two encompasses everything." Then he watches her in exchange for a repeat of the question.

Instantly, images flash through her memory as visible and tangible as a movie. There is so much... the car crash, Cooper's suicide, the adoption rejection, prison, Kurt, Cecilia, the bomb, Picard, Asher, it's all jumbling up together. Too much has happened lately. A year is not meant to hold so much. She doesn't know where to start; she doesn't know what to tell him to explain all that she sees and feels. "There's so much I haven't told you," she says, sinking heavily onto the window ledge under the impossible weight of all those memories.

He looks down at her gently, but doesn't move to sit beside her. "Why?" His honest gaze holds her eyes, but she still doesn't know what to tell him so she blinks a few times before tearing herself away.

Another silence. If she had a nickel for every one of these she's experienced just these last few weeks, she'd probably be a millionaire. Sometimes she thinks the silences are the only real things in her life, and everything in between is just a masquerade to bide time until the next silence forces her back, back, back, back…

_Something was wrong. They could hear the young man screaming. "Dad! Dad! Dad!" Not a "where are you?" kind of scream, but a "why did this happen to you? Don't be true, don't be hurt, don't be dead." kind of scream. Olivia and Elliot leaped from the car, their guns instantly in place as they ran towards the open door of the garage. And then a gun, no, two guns were at their faces. "Drop it!" The two men – one black, one white, both middle age – yelled. "Do it now!" _

"_NYPD!" Elliot answered back, Olivia slightly behind him and both groups still running towards each other. _

"_Drop the gun! Drop it! I said drop it!" The men insisted. They knew the other guys were Feds; they'd followed them there to pick up their perp – the son of the man in FBI custody. _

"_Hold on, we're cops!" She tried when she caught up, not understanding the issue. _

"_I don't give a damn." The white man snarled. He had the bigger gun, shot instead of hand. "Drop it or I'll drop you." He continued. This shouldn't be happening this way, she'd known. They were good cops; they could help. Why were the Feds messing with them instead of whatever the danger was that they'd been focusing on this whole time? FBI worked with local law enforcement all the time, so what the hell was the problem there? But you don't argue to that kind of force. Elliot lowered his gun at the exact same time and speed as she did, but she waited until he'd dropped his before letting go of hers, something in her still needing to have her partner's back._

"_Both of you, on the ground. Move!" Still the white man, gun upraised. She looked to Elliot, but neither one could think of a way out. So this time she went first, going from a push-up stance to flat against the grass. Now, thinking back, she realizes with a start that it was the same position she'd landed in when Alex was shot, but she can't go there, she has to stay in this other memory. _

"_You too. On the ground." Elliot had yet to move. Once they were down though, they could see inside the garage and everything made sense. There was Gavin, their perp, crying as he sat clutching his father's dead and bloody body. They could see at least two other bodies in the same state, most likely FBI agents. "Get their guns and cuff them." _

_They'd just been trying to help, but now they looked like the best suspects. They'd gotten the address for the meet from Peter Snipes, the dead father. The FBI had no idea why they were there and no way to corroborate their story that they'd come only to pick up the son. For all those two men knew, Elliot and Olivia were the killers hoping to get a few more marks in. The guys were just doing their job. But they'd only been trying to do theirs, too. _

_Elliot looked at her in that unspoken language they had, and she knew. They were going to lock-up. They were going to be interrogated – separately – by the Feds. Their jackets were going to be pulled and their badges stripped and IAB was going to make a permanent home inside their asses. The next week or so was gonna be hell, and all for something that they had nothing to with. But his eyes locked with hers and she knew. He had her back and she had his. Even down on the ground with guns at their heads and dead bodies in front of them, it was them against the world. That was just the way it was always meant to be._

That wasn't the only time people had tried to get between them. Her mind goes forward, but only a little, not anywhere close to the present yet. In fact, she's completely forgotten that Elliot is standing next to her inside her apartment and that she was packing a suitcase to get out of town. Instead of thinking about all those implications, she's remembering something that happened during Casey's first year with them. It was open court, she was testifying a case – something she's done a hundred times without a hitch – and suddenly the other attorney called her a murderer. She'd been following a lead for a guy that kidnapped his victims, made them his bride and then kept them hidden for years until he got tired of them. As such, she'd been the first – and at that time only – cop at the site and the perp was dead. But she'd never thought anyone could accuse her of being the doer until she was pulled into Casey's office to try to clear things up after the ADA had called for an immediate recess.

"_I can't believe that Granger's making me a suspect," Olivia spewed, incredulous._

"_You went to the hotel alone." Casey iterated. "You were found with the body. He's trying to create reasonable doubt." _

_But none of those facts helped Olivia at all. "So what the hell do I do?" _

"_Fall on your sword." She said. _

"_Meaning what?" Olivia did not understand how any of this could've happened when she'd just been doing her job. _

_Casey turned to look at her for the first time since that mess at court, but didn't actually meet Olivia's eyes. "Well, you'll admit that you screwed up four years ago and that you went to the hotel room alone. Then you'll deny you murdered Gorman." _

_Again, no help whatsoever. "Casey," She didn't like being on this side of the equation. She was supposed to be putting on the guilt, not taking it. Only Casey interrupted her. _

"_I, I gotta talk to my boss. See if I can fix this mess." And Casey walked out of her own office, still without really looking at Olivia. _

_With a sigh, Olivia turned to Elliot as the door closed. She knew Casey would be able to figure it all out, but something was still bothering her. "She didn't even ask me if I did it." _

"_She can't." Elliot replied immediately, and then, catching the look on her face, further supported his statement. "Look, if she did, and you admitted killing Gorman, she couldn't put you on the stand without suborning perjury." _

_Olivia knew that, she just still didn't like it. She didn't belong there, inside that shadow of accusation and she couldn't prove that unless people wanted to know the truth. For Casey, yeah, she had her legal reasons, but that's only half of what's bothering Olivia. "You didn't ask me either." And somehow, before he even spoke she could hear the smile on his face without needing to look. _

"_I know you didn't." He said confidently, easily. Then he walked past her with a knowing grin. "You would've shot the bastard." And she smiled. It was them against the world again. Like it was meant to be._

But was it meant to be? And just like that, this time the world does come back, and everything's different yet nothing's changed. She's still sitting here on her damn windowsill pretending to live this life that's not a life, and this man that's her partner but not her partner – because he's so much more to her than that, something that not even the words _best friend_ could truly encompass since they skipped pasted platonic and rocket-launched into complicated with Gitano – is still standing beside her pretending to be her partner, but a partner would not be here in her house like this, a partner would not still be there this very instant. A partner would not have stayed this long without her talking to him because it is now getting dark outside and surely they should be working, they should be doing something that does not have to do with her pretending to live this life that is not a life, so what the hell is Elliot doing here?

She goes to ask him just that, only he gets his question out first. "Just now, where were you?"

"What we used to be… _who_ we used to be," she looks up at him with searching eyes. "When did we lose that?"

**Elliot:**

And he sits down beside her with a dense force, as if somebody had just thrown a forty pound bag on his shoulders. It hits him suddenly, this wave of recognition. He knows their relationship has shifted throughout the years, but he hasn't thought of it as _lost_. He is the strong papa, and she is the compassionate, protective mama. They are two halves of a whole person, a perfect partnership. Together they were unbreakable; this wall against evil in the world. He hasn't realized that anything was missing now that had been there before. But the way she says it makes the years and cases flash before his eyes, revealing a truth he's never seen before.

_"Tatum and Becker?" he'd asked. _

"_Did you hear something Becker?" The male looked to his partner in a blatant ignorance of the interruption. _

"_Yeah, now that you mention it, I do. Sounds like something," she half-smiles "going right over your head." _

_It irritates him. "Look, pulling the case file, that was a boss-to-boss thing, that's not how my partner and I operate. But we're here now because we know that the important stuff is not in the file." _

_Tatum answers back quickly. "You're right. It's in our heads and we're just too lazy to go out, pick the guy up." _

_Something about his words, or maybe just his tone sends Benson off onto the edge. He watches her smash her fist into the cop's plate, right through his burger. "Look." She pauses, calming her tone. "I know that we're on your turf, and I would be prickly about it too. That's why I had every intention of coming in here and schmoozing and kissing a little ass. But we have got a ticking clock, do you understand?" Tatum sighs and she takes the moment to sit down before continuing. "Now my partner and I have been on this case for three days straight and we're too tired to get in a pissing match so I just need to know if you're going to help us or not."_

_Neither set of partners is sorry about their reaction, obviously, but the mutual understanding and inevitable respect go a long way. _

"_What do you want to know?" Tatum looks at her. That's when Elliot sits down too, getting himself on level with his partner. _

"_You interviewed over 200 people in the Weathers case. We don't have time to reinterview them all. Give us a shortcut." Olivia intercedes, handing the papers to the female partner. "Who'd you like?" _

"_Nobody good enough," she said. _

_But Olivia insists. "Okay, at this point, we'll take anyone." _

_Tatum now. "Just your creepy average guys who happened to be in the vicinity." _

"_Janitor at the school," Becker pulls a file out. "His name was Phil Dartman." _

_Olivia tests the perp's name inside her mouth as she flips through for a picture. "Did he have bad teeth?" _

"_No." Tatum shot in. "But the guy who lived down the street did. Clayton Mills."_

_Becker disagrees. "Naw, if you're looking for somebody with bad teeth my money's on this guy, Joe Hayes." Another file gets transferred. "He was dating the babysitter at the time. Did a stint in Attica. Assault." That was promising. _

"_Okay," Olivia muttered, gathering up all the papers they're brought and being careful to not mix in the ones the other team had just singled out for them. _

"_Good luck." Tatum shrugged, knowing luck was all they had. _

_What had separated the one pair of detectives from the other? Were Tatum and Becker the way he and Olivia were, or was it the other way around? Did it happen for that detective pair as it had for them? The boundaries had shifted, at some point in time, he's not exactly sure when. But before he knew it, they were raking each other around good-naturedly, drinking from each other's glass without even asking – heck he often finished her plate or the last bite of her hot dog (which she needed absolutely covered in relish) – and when they'd go out with the squad after a case they often ordered for each other. They match strides unconsciously, they read each other's body signals like it's their own personal language akin to the one his twins made up when they were little, and they have the good-cop/bad-cop routine down from any angle for any perp. Did Tatum and Becker blend together so seamlessly? How long had they been partners? Had they gone through the same things, pushed the same margins, rearranged the definitions of their partnership – relationship – as many times as Elliot and Olivia had, put their partner before a victim? Or were they a singularity? And if so, what did that mean? What did anything mean._

_Like the time he'd found her outside of his house when he returned from the store, and with one look at her, he'd known exactly what she was thinking."Liv, you've gotta let it go." She nodded, but he knew she wouldn't. "You put a rapist on trial. You did your job."_

"_I think I made it worse," she argued. This was something that he needed to work through with her, so he put down the grocery bags he was holding and sat on the stoop beside her. _

"_You know that's not true."_

_Still, she fought him. "I made Carrie relive the worst thing that's ever happened to her." A pause as she contemplated the extent of possible damage. "I screwed any number of victims who might have sought counseling from Bethany Taylor. And a few less rapes might be reported because of it." _

_He makes her stop there. "And if Michael Gardner is convicted, he'll never rape another woman." _

"_It's not worth it," she jumped in. "It's not worth the cost." _

_But he wasn't going to let her get away with that. "To you or them?" _

_She shook her head. "I'm not talking about me," _

"_Yeah, you are. For as long as I have known you, you've always identified with the victims. Maybe that's because you're a woman, I don't know. I do know it's one of the things that makes you a great cop. It's also one of the things that makes this job torture sometimes." He looks at her, searching for her to see this thing that he is trying to offer her, the help he is trying to give. "You can never go back and change things that have already happened, Olivia. You can't."_

_She thought for a minute quietly, staring absently at the concrete walk in front of them. "You kill yourself, to make something happen, or you do nothing. And it doesn't matter. There's always another child molester; there's always another rapist. And it's like, you have to sell a little piece of yourself to get the job done. So what the hell's the point?" And there are tears in her eyes now, he can see them but he can't touch them. She has always opened herself up to him, made herself vulnerable and yet he can't fix the part of her that she wants him to fix. Even if he could, he doesn't think he would. She may not like it, but the part of her that seems broken is the most beautiful soul that he's ever known. _

"_I don't know," he says honestly. "Maybe there isn't a point. Maybe the cost is too high." She's rocking slightly, her whole body nonetheless stiff with tension as the tears freeze inside her eyes because she won't let them fall. The only thing he can do is continue and hope it makes a difference, somewhere. "Olivia, no one's making you do this. The difference between you and all the victims is you can walk away." But he only says that because he knows she needs to hear it. The reality is, she never will. She'll be doing this until the day she dies because she's been doing it since the day she was born when she took the shame and anger and sadness of her mother._

_So he's watching her now, waiting for the rebuttal that he knows is coming long before the edges of her lips curl into the tiniest hint of a sad smile. When she speaks, her voice comes out in a whisper soft as a flower petal and nonetheless broken. "No, I can't." And that's the moment that she gets up and crawls into the car, leaving him alone there on the stoop with only his grocery bags to calm his mind. _

_It wasn't the first time she'd done that to him, but she hadn't actually left. Even with the stint in Oregon with the Feds, it wasn't a personal choice to remove herself. And it feels like it's exactly the same now. She's running for the same reasons; the things they always come back to. And he can't understand what's happening now because of what the job means to her. Everyone thinks that with his family, he's the one that has everything to lose. But for Olivia, her life isn't separate from the job. She loves it more than life. She needs it in a way that he doesn't. She's the one who tears herself up when she can't make things right, who will wager her life to bring just one more bad guy down. His job has always been to help her find her footing so she doesn't crash and burn, which is exactly what she's doing now._

_And that somehow reminds him of the cop he shot, years ago. There were certain protocols that you followed as a cop, ones that were drilled into you before you were even fully initiated into the Academy. If someone raises his gun at you, you shoot. Instantly, before they can. Every police officer knows it, and the only times they don't follow it are usually because of some extenuating circumstance like the perp holding a hostage. So for a cop to raise his gun at another cop, that was like committing suicide. Kendall wanted Elliot to shoot him. He knew what would happen; he knew Elliot would fire. Kendall had tilted his head back first, so that Elliot could glimpse the man's eyes right before he turned with the gun. He knew. Why did he make Elliot shoot him? The Captain had said it was because he didn't have the courage to do it himself. So was that what Olivia was doing here? Was she forcing him to let her leave, because she couldn't on her own? And where does that leave him?_

"_You must really love your job," A man from Homicide that Elliot had worked a case with once muttered. But he was all wrong. _

"_You've gotta hate it," Elliot insisted. "Otherwise you'll never be any good at it."_

And she was good at her job, damn good. The problem, he realizes, is that she isn't hating it, she's hating herself. And Elliot senses suddenly that she needs this. That if she doesn't go now, she'll lose all track of who she is when she already feels like she isn't that anymore. Isn't helpful, isn't worthy, isn't human, isn't whatever the hell it must be that Elliot can't figure out. But he knows Olivia, his Livia. He always thought he'd lose her in the moment he wasn't there to protect her, but the truth is he'll lose her if he doesn't free her from the guilt of leaving him.

He picks the purple shirt off the floor and puts it in her hands, holding it to bridge the space between them, this electric contact. A long, hard look into those amber eyes, taking in all the features he's already memorized – olive skin, the smell of mandarin, the fighter outside, the lover inside – and says his last words. "You always know where to find me." Then he lets her go.


	8. Moving On?

**a/n: yeah...I know. I'm a total ass. Once again, it's been another year between updates. I swear I will finish this fic before I die...preferably before 2012 is over, especially if you believe all the Mayan calendar crap (which I don't, just a thought, haha). I've had some lovely beta-help with this chapter from TheTBone, LaoevenSVU, SVUaholic and Stabson. Yes...apparently I need that many people to break me out of my writer's funk...don't ask me why, but they've really helped get my juices going and were great at answering queries about where to take this story. I suspect only one or two more chapters before I wrap this up (hopefully I can within the semester...haha). If anyone is still following this story, I'd love reviews and comments, even flames that it's taken me so long, because really I deserve that. lol. Also...there's a paragraph in this chapter, towards the start of Olivia's POV, that alludes to a season 10 episode...and I tried to figure out how to work it in without mentioning Elliot's mom, and it just didn't work nearly as well. So if anyone gets irritated that this goes out of cannon a bit...sorry. Maybe I'll have to add in some kind of disclaimer oh like... 6 chapters ago stating how long it's been since the Undercover epi...I don't know. Anyway, enough rambling. Get back into the heads of our favorite characters!**

**~TangoSVU**

Elliot misses her, a lot. Even when he tries not to. It's not the dull ache in the pit of his stomach either, like an old wound that still prickles. Rather, it is a visceral pit eating away at his organs. Elliot can literally feel the distance between them because each mile rips another piece of his heart away.

He's got a new partner, guy named Will. Had a couple of different partners in the space of time since Liv's departure, actually. He wonders how long this guy will last. Nobody seems fit for the job. They're too emotional, too angry, too unattached, too black and white, maybe. And while you could label any of them in the unit with those terms, everything has degrees and extenuating circumstances. Some cops just don't understand that; don't realize what they're getting into. Sometimes, Elliot wonders if they can't take the cases, or can't take _him_. He knew he had a great partnership with Liv, yeah, but he hadn't realized just how great; that there was nobody else that could even amount to a small portion of her.

There's something between them that binds them, maybe that damaged mother childhood, but whatever it is it's a string that circles over and over, twisting tighter and tighter; an ever increasing pain with no relief of breakage. But that's too simple…everything without her is simple on paper but complicated as hell in execution. When they're together, at least he has a rhythm. They're an eye of a hurricane, raging around each other for a while and then spreading the damage outward in their silence. Then the calm, just enough time to recoup before the second wave hits. That wasn't something he'd ever planned to change, and now he doesn't even have a choice.

He's trying to spend more time at home, not because Olivia's not at the precinct, but because he's suddenly realized that without her, his kids are all he's got. Sadly though, he discovers he doesn't even have that anymore, not really. He was too hard on them, too protective and he knows it, but he can't change it because he knows exactly what dangers are still out there. He just wishes his kids knew it was love, and a distrust of the world, not of them. Maureen's twenty-three now, out of college and biding time as a receptionist at a real estate job. He learned too late that when kids go to school out of state, they never come back. Occasionally she calls, but she's got her own life now, a steady boyfriend, and he just wishes she'd come home for Christmas. Kathleen's nineteen and spending all of her time with her college friends. She's close enough to come home on weekends but never does. She calls less than Maureen, actually, and he's at a loss for what to do with her. He wonders if he should worry about her, or if it's time to give her space.

The twins are still home, thank goodness, but they're not as close to each other as they used to be. They have different interests now and Elliot doesn't know if that's just because they're fifteen and it's lame to like your siblings, or if they're actually growing apart. Lizzie's in the drama program at her school and is always having rehearsals or performances (that he never seems to make). Dickie's always watching the history channel and keeping NASA as his homepage on the computer. But even on the rare times he asks, Elliot doesn't want to talk to his son about the military. It's something Elliot did because he had to, to provide for his wife, his family, and yeah it changed him and yeah he doesn't regret it, but it's sure as hell not a path he wants for his son. His son deserves better than Elliot ever got.

But Eli, Eli is another story entirely. In his youngest son, his namesake, Elliot has found his sanctuary. He wasn't around much when his other kids were little, but with Eli he has a chance to erase all the mistakes he made before. Eli's the only one who's ever preferred his dad instead of Kathy, and Elliot doesn't even mind the long night hours spent rocking him to sleep through his coughs when he's fighting a cold or the fever and drool that comes with teething. The boy's still got two months before his first birthday, but Elliot swears he says "da da" already even though Kathy thinks he's just muttering sounds. It's like women always say the first smiles are just caused by gas, but all of this time he's spent with Eli in-between shifts have made him certain that the boy understands there are some things only he and his father know. Such as home cooking shows will not put you to sleep, blue eyes are the most sensitive to the sun, and clothes are the most comfortable when they're one hundred percent cotton. Elliot wants to make sure that Eli's life does not resemble the disaster he rode in on. But he has help with that, because he finds the best parts of her radiate from Eli's skin and sparkle from the boy's three-toothed smile. Elliot swears Eli's laugh is just like hers. Because father and son both recognize the fact that home is not in a man-made house, but in a person. And Eli and Elliot's home is in the same arms that held Eli when he first entered this world: Olivia's.

Every fiber in his being wants her back. His fingers itch to dial a number, buy a plane ticket, find her and bring her _home_ where she belongs. But as he reaches for his cell, he realizes that, even if he had her new number, he can't call and force her to talk to him. If it doesn't happen on her terms and in her time, he guesses it just wasn't meant to be. He hates saying that though, because the connection between them is too strong to just be over, finite, _finished_.

He doesn't just miss Olivia, either. He misses all the little things, the things he never thought would mean everything. His mind keeps flashing through the last ten and a half years with her on this beat and it's not the highs and lows of the cases that he remembers. What he yearns for are those blink-and-you-miss-them moments: the way she tucks her hair behind her right ear, how she pumps her left fist into her right palm when she's thinking, the silent companionship on stake-outs, the smell of her "coffee with a flower in it," the way they sign off on each other's case files without even reading the reports because there's no need, the shine of her eyes when she won't let him see her cry, the way she will cling to him in the briefest of flashes when her guard is down, the fierce bravado that can even scare him (though he'd never admit it), the unconscious seamless movements as they work on the streets – the matching of their steps no matter the terrain – and even her small scribbled handwriting. Liv used to pass him little notes during meetings or when they were sitting in on trials, making him think they had somehow regressed back to elementary school. They weren't full of fluff, but they also weren't usually direly important. Things like: _Munch says Judge such and such is in the pocket of so and so, watch for…._Or _perp hates eye contact, stare him down!_Even _wear the brown suit with the green shirt. Victim's favorite color is green, will find it calming._These little tidbits that he would never have noticed otherwise. He misses those. But most of all, Elliot misses the way he always knew what she was thinking, the way he could always look at her to understand his world, because he found his thoughts by reading her own.

The truth is, Elliot wants to find her and stay with her, because no matter where she is, as long as he is _with_ her that will be enough for him. This job doesn't make sense without her. His six always feels unprotected and the cases seem worse and the victims don't open up to him the way they always did to Liv. All he sees now is the darkness, and he was never lost in that before because he had her right beside him in it. Olivia's his foundation, and maybe it's the bastard arrogance she helped him keep in check, but he always felt like if he needed to leave to put his life in order, she'd still be waiting for him there, handling the job. And he realizes now just how damned selfish that really was, because if she is his center than why wouldn't he be hers? But he's never thought about her leaving at all. He never thought she'd be able to give up the job, to give up that purpose in her life. Now that Elliot's without her, he's tempted to just pack up and move divisions or even retire, but he has to stay because this is where she'll show up first when she comes back for him. Even just a chance of Olivia returning is worth all the pain of staying.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Olivia's trying not to miss him, miss anyone. It's been a few months now; the seasons have turned to fall again. At first she traveled, as if in relocating she would find a home, a place her heart could finally rest. While all those years on the police salary never seemed like much, without a family or social life outside the job, she'd never had anything to spend much of it on. She's done some freelance writing – mostly thanks to her Oregon hippie days as Persephone Jones – but that's mainly just something to do. Usually she simply finds herself discovering parts of the world she forgot existed.

She volunteers at soup kitchens, takes long hikes deep into the woods, and reads novels she doesn't remember buying – indeed, she suddenly finds hours pass while she's in the library. She's so desperate to find the parts of humanity that are still good; to experience every day people's purity. It sounds cliché, but out of the confines of the huge congested city, it's as if some kind of peace and goodwill thrives. Or maybe she's just slowed down enough to finally see it.

Back there, she couldn't see the ground anymore. What do you stand on if you don't know where you are?

It's why she had to get out. Out of the precinct, out of the job, out of New York, out of her _life_, essentially.

Elliot would go to the beach. He's never said as much but she knows it just the same. After meeting his mother, so much of his personality makes sense. Pieces that were always missing before, she now sees almost like holographs. At the beach, the consistency of the tide comes hand in hand with the changes of the waves. And that is Elliot in a nutshell. Unendingly present and reliable, yet the calm gentleness so contrasts with his violent intensity. Plus, the only way to see through it is to put yourself right in the middle of everything. It's why his mother lived her life by the sea when her son took her out of his. It was as close to him as she could stay.

But for Olivia, the ocean has no end. And worse than that, no bottom. She's never been in the ocean because she can't see the ground, and she has to know where's she's going before she'll move.

That's why it doesn't surprise her that, after all of her thoughtless wandering, she's ended up here in Southern California, lead climbing one of the many Joshua Tree rock faces with the sun beating down on her back.

She needs the physical challenge just as desperately as she needs the clearing of her mind that comes in the focused numbness. When all she hears is the screaming of her leg muscles and all she feels is the undeniable, ungiving earth beneath her nails. No matter what move she takes out here, this rock won't budge. Olivia could disappear for decades and come back to find this place almost exactly as it is now.

Sure, the earthquakes could shave a boulder off here and there, and years of rain pour could soften edges, but this mountain will remain. And that's Olivia in a nutshell. She's just as hard and just as stubborn, with more sedimentary layers than the Grand Canyon, yet with enough cracks and ridges for you to grab hold and reach the top. She is strong enough for you to stand on, supportive enough to save you from the elements, and unmovable in her convictions and her perseverance. If you don't count the ever-lingering nightmares from a previous life, that is.

The route she's climbing now is probably a 5.10, maybe a 5.11, which makes her glad that she paid extra for the quality shoes. Nobody goes cheap on ropes and harnesses, but they always forget about the shoes. The next bolt is about two feet up and to the right, but it's at the top of the outcropping she is currently clinging to, so it's not as easy as it sounds. She will have to hold all of her weight in the pinch hold of her left hand and swing her entire body up and over to hopefully find a solid foothold that will allow her to stay there long enough to get the next quickdraw carabineer in. The trick is only doing it once so you don't tire out, or heaven forbid, miss the hold entirely and find yourself falling all the way back to the last bolt. It's why most people don't lead climb solo. There's no belayer at the other end of the rope to catch your weight and minimize not only the impact but also the distance of your fall.

But like Olivia's ever lived her life without risk (and Elliot's been her only back-up for anything anyway and she doesn't know how to replace him. No, that's wrong, even if she knew how, she couldn't.).

She takes a breath, lets her left hand off the hold momentarily to massage the fingers, and then lunges. Her right arm manages to side squeeze the outcropping but all of her weight is still on her left hand, which she can't keep up for long. Both feet search frantically for purchase but there is nothing to find. Olivia's fingertips are literally on fire. All of the muscles in her left arm and back are shaking with effort and she can tell she is about to fall. In desperation, she wedges both of her feet vertically into a three centimeter crack along the wall face and pushes her knees into the rock in order to release her hand. Olivia grabs for the next carabineer to clip her rope into, but her feet are continuously slipping down a little farther with every passing second and if she can't do this quickly, she's going to lose what little foothold she has. The last bolt she clipped in to was about ten feet down, and as her brain starts to panic she begins to calculate how far she will fall: twenty-four to twenty-six feet depending on how much the rope stretches. The rock is rubbing her right elbow raw but she ignores it to dig in deeper and gets close to the clip, carabineer open, when the rock disappears from beneath her feet. The whole front side of her body scrapes against the rock as she feels for a hold. Before she can even register the pain or doubt the security of her anchor tied to a tree at the bottom, the carabineer catches in the clip and she stops a mere foot below where she had been.

Olivia's heart is pounding, her muscles are humming with adrenaline and the rush of blood through her ears is deafening, but she just tilts her head back and _laughs_. Flat out laughs so loudly it echoes in this mountain desert range. She laughs because this is what it feels like to be _alive_. The darkness, murky humidity and back alleyways of New York City with its never-ending crimes and perps had tried to take this feeling out of her but she has brought it back. She just wants to exist somewhere outside of all those shadows, all the crestfallen lives. She's tired of always showing up just a little too late, with not quite enough strength or evidence or willpower or truth. But out here on this rock, this is the meaning of existence and if she can just keep climbing long enough and high enough, she might just figure out what she's supposed to do with her life.

"Anyone ever tell you this cliff is for suicide, not lead climbing?"

The voice catches Olivia completely off-guard and she almost loses her hold on the rock face due to pure shock. She looks up to see who it is but the sun just blinds her. "Anyone ever tell you it's not smart to startle someone when they're eighty feet high?"

She hears a chuckle but continues the last bit of the climb easily now that she's over the outcropping, and finds a powdered hand reaching down to help her onto the top. "I'm Valerie. You gotta name or am I just gonna hafta call you 'Miss hogging my cliff'?"

Now it's Olivia's turn to scoff as she dusts her hands off on her dark green capri's. "I'm Olivia, although the other has a nice ring to it." Then she gets a good look around their little view of the expansive Joshua Tree landscape, and she can hardly breathe. It's hard to believe, but the sight is even better than the trip to get there. The towering trees are actually green here, and numerous, unlike the rest of Southern California. Sunlight glints through the leaves where the rock doesn't cast a shadow, and any onlooker wouldn't believe the LA metropolis is mere hours from here. Sure, New York has Coney Island beach and the lakes up north, but it takes so long to even get out of the city that she never bothers unless she has a case.

_Had_ a case.

But she promised herself not to compare California to New York. She figured they (_they_) were almost three thousand miles apart for a reason.

So instead, she categorizes Valerie's flaming orange hair that matches her climbing shoes, and her long arms with the rainbow glitter nails resting on her hips. The gray climbing harness blends in to her cargo pants, and the purple tank somehow manages to compliment all the orange. But during her look around, she hasn't seen anyone besides Valerie and herself. "And where's your belayer, "Miss this cliff isn't for lead climbing'?" Olivia asks.

"Yeah, well, ya know," Valerie winks, "Do as I say, not as I do." She seems to size Olivia up in similar fashion to the way Olivia just had. "Haven't seen you around these parts before. I would say newbie, but newbie's don't lead climb, and you can't be local or you'd know that nobody takes this cliff solo –"

"Except you," Olivia interjects.

Valerie ignores her. "so what, traveler? Don't seem to have much of an accent."

"Uh, yeah," Olivia mutters, not wanting to delve into the matter. "I'm not from around here."

"Well, no sense being shy now; let's hit the next route!" Valerie tightens her harness and then off-handedly comments, "I assume you're comfortable with both top and bottom belays?"

They settle into this easy kind of camaraderie. There's just enough talk during the climbs to keep them from feeling lonely, but the nature of rock climbing prevented anything deeper.

So Olivia climbs, breathing in the fresh air and invigorating sunshine, letting herself relax into this new companionship built on its own kind of automatic trust.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Don't worry when you feel something, worry when you don't." That's what Cragen had said. But Elliot had long since missed the mark. He couldn't feel any of his own feelings anymore, wasn't sure if he even had any. All he could feel now was _her _worry, _her_ sorrow, _her_ pain. It was as if the time apart hadn't cut the strings at all. Instead it had strengthened the bond between them and pulled the string tight like a tin can telephone.

"Eli asleep?" Kathy draws him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, about thirty minutes ago." He replies.

Kathy slips off her white robe and climbs into bed beside him. "I'm sorry," she says softly, turning towards him and brushing her hair out of the way.

"What for?" He's usually the one apologizing, or at least the one that should be, anyway.

"I always knew," she starts, and then stops, collecting her thoughts. It takes her so long he thinks she's fallen asleep. "I always knew you'd be different, without her. I just didn't comprehend how much." And she stops again, momentarily, placing her hand on his bare chest. "No, I knew how much, just not _how_."

Elliot wants to ask her where she's going with this conversation, but he finds he's holding his breath in anticipation, in fear of being discovered. "I thought she was the reason you couldn't leave work at work, and I blamed her for our problems. But you're not the same without her. She has some connection to you that I'll just never be able to compete with. Only I can see now that it never had anything to do with me.

I've always known who you were, Elliot, way before Maureen. And I love your protective spirit. I just should've realized that it would be your weakness, too. That it would keep me from you. And for some reason I won't ever understand, Olivia can break through that barrier of yours. And you may be here with me now," she blinks up at him, simultaneously doe-eyed and yet full of wisdom. "and with the kids – and that's all I've ever wanted – but I never recognized before that when she's not there, when she's not under your shell," Kathy's voice breaks here, and he hears a sadness and a desperation he hasn't seen in her since the beginning. "You're not actually _here_, at all."

For all the arguments they've had when he was sure he was right because he was doing what he _had _to do, it's in this moment with her quiet resignation, that he discovers just how much he's damaged her by trying to protect her. He wants to hold her, to apologize for his personality, but he finds his hands frozen, disconnected from his brain.

"When we first met," Kathy continues gently, "I tried for weeks to get you to see me, to fall in love with me. But you've always seen Olivia, without even knowing you did.

I understand her more, since the accident. And that's why I have to apologize now. She didn't take you from me, after all. She gave you back to me, time and time again." She searches his eyes, wanting him to take what she's giving him, letting him in on her thoughts. It is a catch-22. If he takes her gift, it eliminates one problem, and causes ten others. "She hasn't just saved you, Elliot. She saved Eli, and she saved me."

Elliot kisses the tears away from her face, lets his skin speak his plea of forgiveness; an acceptance of her offering as much as a sacrifice of himself. He fills his mouth with her, truly listening to her desires, melding his passion to hers. And she gives herself to him in an incomparable honesty and a raw vulnerability. This is the moment – as she blossoms – when he truly knows that he's lost his wife.


	9. Book of Loss

**A/N: What? An update almost before a whole month has passed instead of over a year? This is madness! Once again, thanks to my ever faithful betas: TheTBone and LaeoevanSVU. Please review people, I want to know if anyone is still reading this story! :-) Plus I mean, seriously, you've got to want to know more about Valerie, right? XD**

Kathy was asleep in the crook of Elliot's arm, and he relaxed against her steady breathing, ears alert for any sounds from his son. There was no moonlight on her face, but his eyes had adjusted to the dark, so he used the time to memorize all the new lines and rivulets in her skin. Elliot had only just now recognized how much this life had aged her.

He'd been exposed to HIV once, rescuing a victim from a suicide attempt. Liv had to be tested after an old boyfriend ended up in the morgue with AIDs. Point being, they'd faced death before, but it was always something quick, seemingly over before it had really begun. There was no time to think when there was a gun to your face. Your life didn't flash before your eyes. That was a misnomer. There just was or there wasn't, and that was something you just inherently knew when it all came down. But the wait for test results, the nausea and sleeplessness from the preemptive measure pills, the agonizing slowness of the entire process… the HIV scare was worse than any of that stuff he'd ever faced before or since. He didn't even tell Kathy until she confronted him about why he wouldn't make love to her anymore, much less kiss her. She got angry, yelled at him for hiding things from her. Couldn't she see that he was only trying to protect her? What she knew couldn't hurt her. It was the way he dealt with everything in his life. If he couldn't see it, it was over. It was over and it didn't need to be messed with. Nothing could hurt anybody that way, he thought. Nothing.

But what if he'd been wrong all along? What if Elliot's best intentions to save had only destroyed?

He knows so much about both the women in his life, but it's different information. Day. Kathy is fair and light. She's Easter morning spring with his kids in pastels, safekeeping of innocence. Night. Olivia is dark and mysterious. Autumn leaves that change colors without warning, a passageway to another life. He knows the totality of Kathy's past and yet only little pieces of Olivia's; he knows nearly everything about Olivia's present but hardly any of his wife's. He knows how both women sleep, what gets them up every morning. He knows how Kathy likes her coffee and Olivia her tea. Elliot can look at a child and know what either woman will do in response. He knows Olivia's walk, can hear her thoughts in her words or her silences; he knows what riles her up and how to calm her down. He knows Kathy's skin, the full length of her body. He knows the perfect spot to hit during foreplay and the way she likes making love to him, but he has no idea what goes on in her head anymore. Meanwhile, Elliot can look into Olivia's eyes and speak volumes, have a full conversation. Together, they would make a perfect woman, but he can't even keep one of them.

She'd warned him, all those many years ago. He still remembers it now. They were working on this case where a husband had attacked his own wife so he could kill the baby inside her. She'd been having an affair and the baby wasn't his. It had really gotten to Elliot. He'd been pissy with the unit since the start.

Olivia confronted him about it, thinking there was something going on between him and Kathy. But he told her it would almost be easier if one of them was having an affair. "It just never goes away, you know?" He admitted, sitting down beside her on the window ledge in front of the elevators. "Every case a little bit more horrific than the last and I go home. What am I supposed to do, talk about my day at work? 'Honey, today a guy cut a baby out of his wife's stomach. Pass the gravy, please.'?"

She knew exactly what he was getting at, the way she always did. Sometimes he thinks she knows him better than he knows himself. "So you just don't talk at all." He tried to think of a response, but came up with nothing. "That's no solution, Elliot."

"Well," he started, feeling like he needed to justify it, even though he had nothing to prove to her of all people. "One of us has to be able to sleep at night."

He caught Olivia's eyes but couldn't stop thinking of Kathy. "She thinks I'm shutting her out." And that had been all, he thought, but Olivia wasn't going to let him get away with it.

As if to accentuate her point, she got up to leave. "You are." His thoughts stopped. "That's exactly what you do." Her tone was straight, offering him this simple truth. "You keep this up," she continued, "you're going to ruin the best thing you've ever had."

And she'd been right. It wasn't that he didn't want to believe her either, no matter what he does or doesn't understand now. At that time, like this morning, he just didn't know how to change what had already been laid to rest.

If he's done all of this to his wife without even meaning to, what has his unchecked temper done to Olivia? _Liv, I'm sorry. _Then he prays, _Let her hear me._

They go running on Tuesdays, out to dinner on Thursdays, and climbing on Sundays. Sometimes Valerie calls on other days to suggest something else: movie, museum, beach day. Olivia's always up for something, however she just doesn't know how to plan it. The only thing she's ever been able to count on before was work, and without it dictating her schedule, she's at a loss.

She has to be careful though, because Valerie's quick to get a one-up on her, like the art gallery that turned into bungee jumping somewhere off the 210 interstate. ("We call them freeways out here, ya know." Valerie always teases.)

"You've gotta loosen up girl!" Valerie shouts, egging Olivia on. "You're always stuck in your head. How is this different from rock climbing?"

"Val," Olivia smirks, "Rock climbing has _rocks_. This…this is…"

Valerie makes one last check on their clips before grabbing her friend and throwing their combined weight off the platform. "Living!" Then, above Olivia's shrieks of surprise, Val's pun, "Liv is living!"

The blood rushing to her features, the ground so close and then so far, her heart in her stomach and then her throat, Valerie laughing, Olivia laughing. So much laughter.

The adventures are exciting, and Olivia loves this sense of freedom, but it's the smaller moments that make more of an impact on her. Growing up, she was never one of those kids with lots of friends, much less girls who were friends. The few times she got close to somebody, it always ended pretty quickly once she realized she couldn't bring them home to play after school or for sleepovers. In college she was part of a sorority, but she's always been a bit closed-mouthed, and even then she was more concerned with doing everything she could to get into the Academy. And yeah, she and Alex – and later she and Casey – would go out for drinks after cases, but Olivia's never had anything close to this friendship she's got with Valerie.

One night, tongues loose with alcohol, they spoke of years past: college, their 20s, 30s, crossing forty. There was no talk of childhood, as personal choices define volumes on their own.

"My parents are so conservative; I'm not sure how they managed to create me." Valerie laughed, heady. "I don't think I've ever seen them do anything more than hold hands. It took me until after college to really figure out who I was, and I wasn't the typical good-girl-turned-partier either. I've just always had this free spirit spontaneous thing going on. I like to keep moving." Fresh out of college with a useless English Literature degree, she took a journalism job as the California scout for a hunting magazine. That's how she'd ended up as a travel guide. She knew where everything was in California, and if she didn't have a personal connection to the place itself, she knew someone who did. It was that networking that got her in with the VIPs, "And it's been smooth sailing ever since. It's perfect for me. I have no patience for teaching middle-class college brats and can you even imagine how mental I'd be trapped up indoors? People pay me to visit all of these incredible places, and then I get paid more just to write down my opinion about them. Sometimes they even beg me to fit them into my schedule just so they can get some good advertizing out before the peak season."

"Is that how you discovered that outcropping of ours at Joshua Tree?" she asked.

Valerie winked at her. "Gotta keep a few little gems to myself." Then she sighed, the feeling in the room instantly more somber. "I'd go crazy without the traveling. You'd think for an only child, I'd be used to being alone all the time, but it's draining."

"I poured all of myself into work, too," Olivia admitted softly. "I sacrificed everything, without even realizing it."

"It's no wonder we're basically spinsters. Heh. Men could never keep hold of me,"

"And I never let any of them in."

But Valerie shook her head. "Never? With a hottie like yourself? Now that I doubt. There has to be someone. There's always one that makes us who we are whether we gave them permission with a title or not."

_Elliot_, her heart sobs. His name sits on her lips like a drop of water in the desert. It's all she has, and it is no relief at all.

"Oh honey," Valerie grabs her hand suddenly. "Sorry I asked. Those burns never do heal. I should know."

Wiping the stray tear, Olivia takes another sip of beer. "Did he leave you or vice versa?"

Valerie took her hand back, brushing her hair out of her face. "Neither really, we just…I just…I ruined it before I even knew what I had."

"How so?"

"Ruined my chance. Well, you see, after college…it's just…" Valerie drank her beer dry. "Jack wanted kids. We tried for awhile, but nothing happened. So we went to a specialist and…"

Olivia had to prod her on. She didn't understand how a money issue could counteract the love for a child. But Valerie's skin had gone cold, stiff.

"Turns out my uterus was full of scar tissue. Years before, I'd been involved with my boss. He wasn't married; it wasn't an affair. I just didn't want it to look like favoritism, so I broke it off. Then I discovered I was pregnant…"

"An abortion," Olivia gasped, without even meaning to.

"I felt so foolish. I wasn't some stupid high school drop-out or college kid with no life plan. I wasn't naïvely thinking if I gave him sex he'd love me. Birth control is so much more common place now. I didn't know where to get it, and even if I had, I would've been too scared to ask. It just wasn't the right time for a baby then; the right man. I figured I'd have more chances later.

"I'd never told Jack about it. It ripped him apart. Said he didn't even know who I was anymore. We stopped talking. You can get through anything as long as you keep talking. But it was too late for us." She wrung her hands together, trying to stop their shaking, and then Val was crying. Olivia wasn't even sure she realized it. "Those clinics lie to you. Say it's relatively painless, that it's not a baby yet, just a fetus, that there aren't any long-term effects, that you can still have other children later." Her eyes darkened, and Valerie lost herself to the memory. "They used some sort of tiny vacuum. I can still hear the sound, like suction cups. It wasn't what I thought it'd be. I didn't mean to look. It was like a limp baby doll, only broken up. They don't tell you they pull them out in pieces, crush the skull. I could see all her perfect little fingers. I would've named her Abby."

Suddenly, something shook Valerie from her monologue and she jumped up towards the kitchen. "But enough of my blubbering. Looks like both of us need another brew!"

The topic left Olivia taciturn. If abortion had been an option in '68, would Serena still have kept her? Olivia's always been careful about some form of birth control, but how much of that was just luck of the draw? If she had been in Val's position, would she have done the same thing? Even knowing how much she wants a child now, she doesn't know that answer. A part of her says no way, just because of that desire, but another part says absolutely, because she'd grown up knowing she was unplanned and unloved with no father to speak of, and that is just too painful a thing to put on any child. It's a wonder her mother hadn't died years before she did.

Olivia had watched people do it more times than she could count. There were lots of different options for reactions and there was no way to accurately predict which one the person would have, so you had to prepare yourself for any of them. There was denial, numbness, anger, regret, grief, disbelief, and some that you couldn't even begin to touch the surface of in just one word. Regardless, every reaction was intense: the weeping unhinged, the screeches piercing, the words unrelenting, the strength immeasurable, the fury unstoppable, the thoughts unconquerable, the facts useless. Sometimes the person stormed away, others tried to break through the plexi-glass to reach their loved one. Still yet, some would grab onto you with such force it was like you were the only thing holding them together anymore.

You think you know, see, having watched so many people go through it, what you would do in the same situation, but you don't. Her I.D. had been in her pocketbook, and yet Olivia still had to go identify the body. Yes, _the_ body. By the time she saw it, it wasn't a person anymore, it was just… a body. Just another dead piece of skin and bones to add to the long list of ones she'd seen in her lifetime. She remembers her heart was beating too slow – because surely she should be feeling at least a bit apprehensive? – as she stood in front of the mirror facing the darkness inside. The cop with her whom she didn't know – he was from another unit, homicide, in a part of town she normally didn't deal with – reached up to rap the window and alert the M.E. to their presence, but she beat him to it out of habit. The lights shone, and the hands that belonged to the forever faceless M.E. pulled back the white sheet. Olivia couldn't understand the point of the white sheet. Why? What did the white mean? What did it matter? White couldn't erase the blood stains, the wounds left permanently on the body, couldn't bring back the innocence lost, couldn't alleviate the sins of the person beneath. Beneath the sheet was the face of a woman, Serena Benson. "That's her," she spoke flatly, then turned on her heel and left without even a glance to the detective. But she'd lied. It wasn't Olivia's mother beneath that sheet. Her mother had left years ago. Olivia wasn't being cold and she wasn't in denial. She was calm, not hysterical. She couldn't be anything except indifferent. It was the only reaction, only emotion left when it came to this woman in Olivia's life.

"I still can't get over you hauling ass with the po-po," Valerie mused, coming back from the kitchen with cold ones and interrupting Olivia's thoughts. "Especially in New York City. How'd you ever live to tell about it, much less escape? You should totally write a book. Or dictate one to me and I'll write it for you! Always wanted to get the inside scoop…"

_"I'm not saying that. Some people are saying that. They're selling a lot of books." _

_ "I should write a book," she'd spurted sarcastically. But he didn't take it that way._

_ "You should – you know these people." _

_ She what? "No I don't," she'd resisted with a chuckle._

_ "You do, that's why people move away from you on the sofa, Olivia." People did what? How did he know that? How could he be sure there was any specific reason? "You get inside sex offenders." _

_ She'd paused then, considering his words for a moment. But just a moment, because then the sarcasm came back. "Gee," she'd practically rolled her eyes like the teenager she never had a chance to be. "How nice for me," she muttered before downing the rest of her drink and grabbing up her jacket._

_ "Well?" he'd asked, but hadn't he already said enough? But he started to follow her, so she answered him. _

_ "Well what?" _

_ "I'm not moving away." He smiled, and she couldn't help smiling back._

_ "I can see that." So she brushed passed him, a little closer than usual, enough to actually brush him with her rear end. She'd taken him back to her apartment with her. They'd started making out on the couch. It was nice. He wasn't acting strange or holding back or giving too much. He just, was. She'd wanted it; it had been awhile. _

_ He wanted it too, or so he said, but suddenly he stopped and she'd pulled away, walked towards the desk drawer that had never held clothes because she'd been too lazy to move it into the bedroom. "Sex crimes, huh?" It always came back to that, no matter what they said in the beginning. _

_ She'd sighed. "Uh, yeah." Turned back to him, prepared to say goodnight – an underpinning of goodbye included free of charge. But he'd still been kissing her neck, and was now looking into her eyes. "What?" she asked. "You seeing what I see?" _

_ "Yea," he replied, even though she didn't understand how that could be possible, seeing as how he was just a reporter, a wanna-be big-shot. "I mean, you close your eyes, is that it? To have sex?"_

_ But for how observant he'd always been, he had this one all wrong. The picture in front of your eyes was malleable, if you knew how to change it by degrees, if you knew where to look, where to put your focus. It was the picture behind the lids of your eyes – the one permanently printed there like a giant tattoo – that burned when you least expected it. So she denied his claim, without really answering the underlying question. "I have sex with my eyes wide open." That way she could always tell what was coming, could always be the one to control the outcome, or at least, the only one to know what that outcome might look like, behind closed eyes._

_ He'd taken it as a come on, which it sort of had been, when she thinks about it now, even though that hadn't been her motive then exactly. More kissing; the night looked promising, they'd shared a few more words as their mouths connected. Then his lips touched her neck again, and he was behind her. "Let's pretend," he whispered hot into her ear and her whole body perked up in response. This could be new. _

_ "Pretend what?" she shirked slyly, but in the next instant she wished she hadn't. _

_ "That I'm the guy on the subway." _

_ Her stomach dropped to the bottom floor of the apartment complex. She pushed her hair behind her right ear as she nearly retched. Her first thought was to punch him, but then – as she tried to get away from him so he'd stop touching her – his arms clasped around her waist too tightly. She pulled at them. "Okay, stop it." But he twisted tighter. _

_ "Just for fun," another whisper, but there was nothing sexy about it anymore. _

_ "No, no." That was supposed to be enough, that's what she told the women and children that came into the precinct. "No, really, stop it." Her hands flopped against his, searching for purchase besides her own skin. _

_ "What would you do?" he asked, and that's when she got away, as if to answer him. _

_ "Oh my God!" she'd chosen incredulity and repulsion over the fear, because fear was always the hardest one, but she could feel the panic constricting her heart as she backed away, wiping her fingers across her lips. "Wow. I'm going to go wash my face," she pointed towards her bathroom. "and my hands, and my mouth, and uh, there's the door," this time she pointed as far away from her as she could, still edging into the other room, afraid of facing her back to him. "Uh, make sure you're out," she'd reached the bathroom door, finally. She grabbed it, supported her weight with it. "When I get out of here." She pointed her index finger against the wood and then as she slammed it she'd stated – just for extra emphasis – "gone." _

_ And he had left, as she'd turned the water of the shower up as hot as it would go – an attempt to wash all remains of him away – but he was always there with her, too, even though she'd lived in many different buildings since. Sometimes now, in her dreams – her nightmares, actually – inside her head, the reporter and the corrections officer combined._

"No," Olivia accidentally shouted, resolute. "The things I've seen you can't put into books. Even if you could get it published and heaven forbid convince someone to read it, no one would believe it. People inherently want to think that those things don't happen, or that they only happen to strangers. Truth is, no one's immune."

"Gotta drink to that." Valerie said softly, clinking their bottles together.


End file.
